h-2 - Hello Poetry

I crave adventure in ways I myself cannot understand. But I think that’s what losing a loved one does to you. It creates a sort of entrapment that cannot be overcome. You’ve lost something incredibly valuable and you’re left with no means of ever getting it back. You begin to gravitate towards all open roads because you’ve got no ties holding you down. It’s almost like deep down, you’re searching for what’s been lost. I think feelings of loss and feelings of entrapment go hand in hand. If you blink, you might miss how quickly they follow each other into the room. You’re now alone in this world. You’ve been left behind and you cannot help but feel trapped in this place where you cannot find what’s been taken. And I try, I do really try to remember that loved ones are only ours to borrow and never to keep but it’s easier said than done. Especially when you lose a twin. The loneliness is incredible but the suffocation that ensues is inevitably worse. See, when parents lose a child, they gravitate towards the pieces in their lives that didn’t shatter. I am one of those pieces. I am the piece that hasn’t shattered: their only living child. And my parents are holding onto me so tightly, they are blind to the damage induced by their suffocating grasp. Permanent damage. The kind of damage that will make me flee from any and all means of control, any and all relationships that might try to bind me to a time or place because I cannot stay any longer here there anywhere. Anywhere at all that might result in being chained. To induce the sort of suffocation I may not survive now. Because I am drowning. It’s ironic in a dark Sylvia Plath way. I have always feared that drowning would be a terrible way to go. I never thought I would experience what it was like to drown on land. But I am here. I am here in this moment. And in this moment I cannot breath. There is oxygen all around me and I still cannot breath. You guys are suffocating me. I am the remaining living child and you guys are suffocating me. I. Cannot. B R E A T H

0

Sep 18, 2015

Sep 18, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC

Suffocation

I crave adventure in ways I myself cannot understand. But I think that’s what losing a loved one does to you. It creates a sort of entrapment that cannot be overcome. You’ve lost something incredibly valuable and you’re left with no means of ever getting it back. You begin to gravitate towards all open roads because you’ve got no ties holding you down. It’s almost like deep down, you’re searching for what’s been lost. I think feelings of loss and feelings of entrapment go hand in hand. If you blink, you might miss how quickly they follow each other into the room. You’re now alone in this world. You’ve been left behind and you cannot help but feel trapped in this place where you cannot find what’s been taken. And I try, I do really try to remember that loved ones are only ours to borrow and never to keep but it’s easier said than done. Especially when you lose a twin. The loneliness is incredible but the suffocation that ensues is inevitably worse. See, when parents lose a child, they gravitate towards the pieces in their lives that didn’t shatter. I am one of those pieces. I am the piece that hasn’t shattered: their only living child. And my parents are holding onto me so tightly, they are blind to the damage induced by their suffocating grasp. Permanent damage. The kind of damage that will make me flee from any and all means of control, any and all relationships that might try to bind me to a time or place because I cannot stay any longer here there anywhere. Anywhere at all that might result in being chained. To induce the sort of suffocation I may not survive now. Because I am drowning. It’s ironic in a dark Sylvia Plath way. I have always feared that drowning would be a terrible way to go. I never thought I would experience what it was like to drown on land. But I am here. I am here in this moment. And in this moment I cannot breath. There is oxygen all around me and I still cannot breath. You guys are suffocating me. I am the remaining living child and you guys are suffocating me. I. Cannot. B R E A T H

19

I call it "Small Pool Syndrome". It occurs not all at once, but slowly over time. When one is constrained to seeing the same groups of people for too long. People that you once found ordinary, are suddenly seemingly extraordinary. The problem arises when you can't see past the facade. The significant other you begin to fall for isn't extraordinary. They aren't meant for you. But you've been around them for long enough that you've forgotten what the outside world holds. You've forgotten that you know better. That you can do better. It's a hard facade to crack really. Because before you know it, you've fallen for the idea of a person. Who they could be instead of who they are. At this point, you've hurdled the red line and surpassed the danger zone. Almost too far gone. Because falling for an idea is worse than falling for a person. The ending is never ideal. The trick to overcoming Small Pool Syndrome is to leave. You must leave the pool, explore the ocean, immerse yourself in new depths. It is only when you've left the shallow end, that you will discover what greatness awaits. One cannot overcome heartbreak from expectation until they are immersed in reality. Reality can only be found outside of the small pool. You must swim out past the tidal zone. And when you've finally dragged yourself out, you'll stand looking into the pool instead of swimming in it. And you'll feel the "Ah-hah" moment overcome you as you realize the person you once looked at with shinning eyes was always staring back with dull ones. They aren't the one for you, no matter how sweet their words had tasted in your mouth. In life you'll find some things aren't meant to be swallowed. Especially poison. And there will be some who may not understand. There is no rhythm or rhyme to this prose. For the majority it is but words. But for a select few, for those afflicted, these may be the words necessary to crack the facade. To pull them out of the pool. To prevent the drowning. Don't let your heart break from expectations. Leave whats not good for you and find what you deserve. You deserve better so: Do. Better. Get better. You cannot look back if you are in the same place. You must move forward in order to reflect. And until you move forward, you cannot realize that putting one foot in front of the other was the best **** thing you could have done for yourself.

0

Jul 5, 2015

Jul 5, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC

The Heartbreak of Expectations

I call it "Small Pool Syndrome". It occurs not all at once, but slowly over time. When one is constrained to seeing the same groups of people for too long. People that you once found ordinary, are suddenly seemingly extraordinary. The problem arises when you can't see past the facade. The significant other you begin to fall for isn't extraordinary. They aren't meant for you. But you've been around them for long enough that you've forgotten what the outside world holds. You've forgotten that you know better. That you can do better. It's a hard facade to crack really. Because before you know it, you've fallen for the idea of a person. Who they could be instead of who they are. At this point, you've hurdled the red line and surpassed the danger zone. Almost too far gone. Because falling for an idea is worse than falling for a person. The ending is never ideal. The trick to overcoming Small Pool Syndrome is to leave. You must leave the pool, explore the ocean, immerse yourself in new depths. It is only when you've left the shallow end, that you will discover what greatness awaits. One cannot overcome heartbreak from expectation until they are immersed in reality. Reality can only be found outside of the small pool. You must swim out past the tidal zone. And when you've finally dragged yourself out, you'll stand looking into the pool instead of swimming in it. And you'll feel the "Ah-hah" moment overcome you as you realize the person you once looked at with shinning eyes was always staring back with dull ones. They aren't the one for you, no matter how sweet their words had tasted in your mouth. In life you'll find some things aren't meant to be swallowed. Especially poison. And there will be some who may not understand. There is no rhythm or rhyme to this prose. For the majority it is but words. But for a select few, for those afflicted, these may be the words necessary to crack the facade. To pull them out of the pool. To prevent the drowning. Don't let your heart break from expectations. Leave whats not good for you and find what you deserve. You deserve better so: Do. Better. Get better. You cannot look back if you are in the same place. You must move forward in order to reflect. And until you move forward, you cannot realize that putting one foot in front of the other was the best **** thing you could have done for yourself.

13

We kissed. Well I kissed you and then we took off. We kissed twice that night. Long kisses in the middle of a parking lot. Long kisses and lip bites. Chicago. I kissed you in an effort to tie up loose ends. I kissed you so that I'd put the wondering to rest. I was a scientist you see. I had to analyze what your lips felt like, research the taste of your mouth. I wanted to breath you. I didn't know if that was even possible but I was just conducting an experiment. It wasn't supposed to last. It wasn't supposed to be replicated. It was just an experiment. I was kissing you to leave you. Intending for our first kiss to be our kiss goodbye. Then I flew home the next day and we didn't speak for three weeks. I didn't know that my research would ruin me. That I'd think about your lips obsessively for days. That I'd hate myself for the constant oscillations of you through my thoughts. I wasn't prepared. Then we talked. I found out you were too drunk to even remember the kiss. I was upset but I laughed instead. I pretended to be disgusted when I told you that you had tasted like cigarettes and alcohol. But really, I was disgusted with myself for liking everything about the kiss - including the taste of you and everything on your breath. I've come to realize I was not a researcher that night. I was a fool. A fool who thought a first kiss with a long time crush would tie up loose ends. I tied up nothing that night. Instead I had taken the sharpest scissors I could have found and initiated the greatest unraveling of sanity my 22 year old self had ever endured. Why did I have to kiss you? I should have walked away. Hell, I should have run away like the very ground near you was on fire. Because while I've thought about you every single day since I've left, I know I likely haven't graced your imagination. Our brains are spinning very different memories. That's the thing about memories though. Two people can be in the exact same place, at the exact same time, and have completely different recollections of the events. For me, our kiss is a memory that I've turned over in my hands, again and again. Just when I think I'm safe, when I think I've examined every aspect, I find a jagged edge and I'm cut once again. I cannot keep re-dressing new wounds. For you though, our kiss is a hazy, sun faded piece of paper. A second thought. IF that. A paper so insignificant, it's recall isn't worth the effort. Who cares what the faded ink once read. I should have never become a researcher.

0

Jul 5, 2015

Jul 5, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC

Researcher

We kissed. Well I kissed you and then we took off. We kissed twice that night. Long kisses in the middle of a parking lot. Long kisses and lip bites. Chicago. I kissed you in an effort to tie up loose ends. I kissed you so that I'd put the wondering to rest. I was a scientist you see. I had to analyze what your lips felt like, research the taste of your mouth. I wanted to breath you. I didn't know if that was even possible but I was just conducting an experiment. It wasn't supposed to last. It wasn't supposed to be replicated. It was just an experiment. I was kissing you to leave you. Intending for our first kiss to be our kiss goodbye. Then I flew home the next day and we didn't speak for three weeks. I didn't know that my research would ruin me. That I'd think about your lips obsessively for days. That I'd hate myself for the constant oscillations of you through my thoughts. I wasn't prepared. Then we talked. I found out you were too drunk to even remember the kiss. I was upset but I laughed instead. I pretended to be disgusted when I told you that you had tasted like cigarettes and alcohol. But really, I was disgusted with myself for liking everything about the kiss - including the taste of you and everything on your breath. I've come to realize I was not a researcher that night. I was a fool. A fool who thought a first kiss with a long time crush would tie up loose ends. I tied up nothing that night. Instead I had taken the sharpest scissors I could have found and initiated the greatest unraveling of sanity my 22 year old self had ever endured. Why did I have to kiss you? I should have walked away. Hell, I should have run away like the very ground near you was on fire. Because while I've thought about you every single day since I've left, I know I likely haven't graced your imagination. Our brains are spinning very different memories. That's the thing about memories though. Two people can be in the exact same place, at the exact same time, and have completely different recollections of the events. For me, our kiss is a memory that I've turned over in my hands, again and again. Just when I think I'm safe, when I think I've examined every aspect, I find a jagged edge and I'm cut once again. I cannot keep re-dressing new wounds. For you though, our kiss is a hazy, sun faded piece of paper. A second thought. IF that. A paper so insignificant, it's recall isn't worth the effort. Who cares what the faded ink once read. I should have never become a researcher.

16

People keep asking me how I’m doing. If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened. If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury. In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now. I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic. Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary? I know they’re hot. I know I’m in hell. I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling. Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help. I need to keep walking. I just need to keep walking. My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking. Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames. They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel. They are novices. But life hasn’t been kind to me. These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet. I’ve been in hell for years. People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here. I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame. Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life. It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner. But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore. I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play. I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire. There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking. Because talking is futile. Note: Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating . The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear. And sometimes people aren't strong enough. It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse. Exponentially. Worse.

0

Mar 28, 2015

Mar 28, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC

Career-Ending Injuries: the collegiate struggle in hell

People keep asking me how I’m doing. If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened. If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury. In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now. I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic. Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary? I know they’re hot. I know I’m in hell. I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling. Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help. I need to keep walking. I just need to keep walking. My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking. Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames. They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel. They are novices. But life hasn’t been kind to me. These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet. I’ve been in hell for years. People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here. I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame. Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life. It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner. But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore. I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play. I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire. There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking. Because talking is futile. Note: Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating . The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear. And sometimes people aren't strong enough. It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse. Exponentially. Worse.

34

I feel sorry that some people think They Weren't Born Whole. So they go out searching, Waiting, Abating, For somebody to complete their soul. At a young age I was blessed to be broken Got to put the pieces back together myself. No man, no prince, no shining bright knight. Just me and my sutures Disinfecting alcohol on the shelf. I don't need a healer So no human need bother I fixed what was broken Saved you your wine-and-dine dollar Spend it on a damsel Who's been tricked into thinking she's distressed Because I'm having none of that **** here I'm the latest model of me and it's simply the best. See medically speaking, Scars won't ever leave But they can always be replaced By smaller ones chosen at your knives' reprieve So I've built myself a brand new me As whole and together As possibly could be. Patched up nicely with sutures Tied ever so tight Keloids like embedded trophies Many a victorious fight. And while one might go searching Like a pollinating human bee. I know my self worth. I'll never depend on thee.

0

Aug 26, 2014

Aug 26, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC

Be Your Own ******* Hero

I feel sorry that some people think They Weren't Born Whole. So they go out searching, Waiting, Abating, For somebody to complete their soul. At a young age I was blessed to be broken Got to put the pieces back together myself. No man, no prince, no shining bright knight. Just me and my sutures Disinfecting alcohol on the shelf. I don't need a healer So no human need bother I fixed what was broken Saved you your wine-and-dine dollar Spend it on a damsel Who's been tricked into thinking she's distressed Because I'm having none of that **** here I'm the latest model of me and it's simply the best. See medically speaking, Scars won't ever leave But they can always be replaced By smaller ones chosen at your knives' reprieve So I've built myself a brand new me As whole and together As possibly could be. Patched up nicely with sutures Tied ever so tight Keloids like embedded trophies Many a victorious fight. And while one might go searching Like a pollinating human bee. I know my self worth. I'll never depend on thee.

37

They say "just weather the storm" "Just pass this test" And "Once it's over, it will all be okay" But it's not okay. The storm has passed and it's not okay. At all. Because the storm destroyed me. And the pieces it took, the brother that's now gone. I cannot seem to move on. They say just weather the storm. But they're so very wrong. The aftermath is unbearably worse.

0

Feb 22, 2014

Feb 22, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC

The Aftermath of Death.

They say "just weather the storm" "Just pass this test" And "Once it's over, it will all be okay" But it's not okay. The storm has passed and it's not okay. At all. Because the storm destroyed me. And the pieces it took, the brother that's now gone. I cannot seem to move on. They say just weather the storm. But they're so very wrong. The aftermath is unbearably worse.

11

I used to think it was better knowing it all But you're gone now and I've uncovered all your secrets. All the darkest that led you to fall. And now I know that when too much is learned, when too much has been found, The old days will be yearned, but they'll be too buried beneath the ground. I've found the drugs, the meds, the prescriptions galore. I've uncovered all the things hidden behind the closet door. The drugs were the worst and filled with sorrow. I wish I had paid enough attention and known you were hollow I would have traveled the earth and put sunshine in jars I would have found climbed the sky and stolen stardust from the stars I would have bottled it up and hand delivered it fast If I had known you were so wounded and you weren't going to last. But I was too caught up in myself and you always burned so bright. How could I have known that August 17th would be your last night? I keep looking back wondering what I could have changed But you were the happiest person I knew... I would have never thought of dark seas and waves deranged. I would have never thought of monsters and sorrow and silent cries I would have never imagined all the secrete drug dealings and the lies. I would have never imagined the oxy, the xanax, the vicodin pills I'd always seen you as the adventurous boy, the one seeking thrills I just didn't know that a battle had been struck and a war had been waged. That the insides of your mind were dark and enraged. I wish I had known though, so that I could have aided. So that I could have protected my twin, prevented and persuaded. Whatever it was, we could have gotten through it. If I had only known, if I had only seen enough to pursue it. But I didn't. So I couldn't. And there's no going back. And now there's only one of me. My other half I lack.

0

Nov 26, 2013

Nov 26, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC

I Wish

I used to think it was better knowing it all But you're gone now and I've uncovered all your secrets. All the darkest that led you to fall. And now I know that when too much is learned, when too much has been found, The old days will be yearned, but they'll be too buried beneath the ground. I've found the drugs, the meds, the prescriptions galore. I've uncovered all the things hidden behind the closet door. The drugs were the worst and filled with sorrow. I wish I had paid enough attention and known you were hollow I would have traveled the earth and put sunshine in jars I would have found climbed the sky and stolen stardust from the stars I would have bottled it up and hand delivered it fast If I had known you were so wounded and you weren't going to last. But I was too caught up in myself and you always burned so bright. How could I have known that August 17th would be your last night? I keep looking back wondering what I could have changed But you were the happiest person I knew... I would have never thought of dark seas and waves deranged. I would have never thought of monsters and sorrow and silent cries I would have never imagined all the secrete drug dealings and the lies. I would have never imagined the oxy, the xanax, the vicodin pills I'd always seen you as the adventurous boy, the one seeking thrills I just didn't know that a battle had been struck and a war had been waged. That the insides of your mind were dark and enraged. I wish I had known though, so that I could have aided. So that I could have protected my twin, prevented and persuaded. Whatever it was, we could have gotten through it. If I had only known, if I had only seen enough to pursue it. But I didn't. So I couldn't. And there's no going back. And now there's only one of me. My other half I lack.

32

I remember being young and thinking I would have my life together when I was older. That I was going to grow up and at some magical point, life would get better. Because I would be an adult and as an adult I would have infinite choices. Infinite control. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the naivety of children protects them from foresight. They can’t think about the logistics. Only the beginning and ending of dreams - never flanked with concern of the pathway in between. Thus, as a child, I thought I would grow up, gain a sense of control, and have it all together. That I would be able to stop my parents from fighting, work a really fun job, and hang out with my brother on weekends. As a child, that’s honestly how I saw the world. I thought that the problems encountered by adults could be easily fixed because they were adults and they had control. But I was wrong. Death, among many other things, cannot be fixed. I think that these beliefs held by children can be so strong that no matter how many adults tell them life is hard, they just can’t believe it. A sense of innocence so dense in nature protects children. They are so dearly sheltered, so entirely shielded from reality, they can’t imagine its entirety. Five-year-old me knew nothing about this world. That its entirety is built upon a give and take of growing physically and shrinking mentally and emotionally. In which biologically, cells are reproducing and hearts are pumping blood but mentally and emotionally things are breaking down and all the time pieces are being stripped away. Pieces that won’t be given back. Ever. It’s sort of awful really. Because nobody realizes until it’s too late. Until you’ve seen so many people break, you start to wonder if you’ve been broken too or if you’re still waiting. For you tests, your trials, your tribulations. As we age, we are broken over and over, only to sometimes be rebuilt. Sometimes rebuilt better and sometimes never rebuilt at all; never fixed. And the worst part is the realization. Looking around and beginning to see the broken bits everybody has hanging by a thread; a quick patch up so they could go to work that day. But patch ups don't last forever. And sometimes things break more than once. Sometimes the same exact wounds are reopened. And sometimes, once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t be fixed. Like an outdated piece of technology, that part just isn’t made anymore. And nobody ever tells you this growing up. They can’t because you’re protected. So as you go through life, your shield begins to wear and you begin to notice. And after noticing it, you’re suspect to watch as people break one by one. And then you’re left to ponder the arrival of your turn. Or wonder if it’s already happened.

0

Nov 1, 2013

Nov 1, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC

Infinite Control and Broken Bits: The Innocence of Childhood

I remember being young and thinking I would have my life together when I was older. That I was going to grow up and at some magical point, life would get better. Because I would be an adult and as an adult I would have infinite choices. Infinite control. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the naivety of children protects them from foresight. They can’t think about the logistics. Only the beginning and ending of dreams - never flanked with concern of the pathway in between. Thus, as a child, I thought I would grow up, gain a sense of control, and have it all together. That I would be able to stop my parents from fighting, work a really fun job, and hang out with my brother on weekends. As a child, that’s honestly how I saw the world. I thought that the problems encountered by adults could be easily fixed because they were adults and they had control. But I was wrong. Death, among many other things, cannot be fixed. I think that these beliefs held by children can be so strong that no matter how many adults tell them life is hard, they just can’t believe it. A sense of innocence so dense in nature protects children. They are so dearly sheltered, so entirely shielded from reality, they can’t imagine its entirety. Five-year-old me knew nothing about this world. That its entirety is built upon a give and take of growing physically and shrinking mentally and emotionally. In which biologically, cells are reproducing and hearts are pumping blood but mentally and emotionally things are breaking down and all the time pieces are being stripped away. Pieces that won’t be given back. Ever. It’s sort of awful really. Because nobody realizes until it’s too late. Until you’ve seen so many people break, you start to wonder if you’ve been broken too or if you’re still waiting. For you tests, your trials, your tribulations. As we age, we are broken over and over, only to sometimes be rebuilt. Sometimes rebuilt better and sometimes never rebuilt at all; never fixed. And the worst part is the realization. Looking around and beginning to see the broken bits everybody has hanging by a thread; a quick patch up so they could go to work that day. But patch ups don't last forever. And sometimes things break more than once. Sometimes the same exact wounds are reopened. And sometimes, once people are broken in certain ways, they can’t be fixed. Like an outdated piece of technology, that part just isn’t made anymore. And nobody ever tells you this growing up. They can’t because you’re protected. So as you go through life, your shield begins to wear and you begin to notice. And after noticing it, you’re suspect to watch as people break one by one. And then you’re left to ponder the arrival of your turn. Or wonder if it’s already happened.

28

I will take this. I have to. Even if it breaks me. Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again. And it has. It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as “damaged goods” Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again. Normal is a thing of the past. This is what’s happening now. Broken pieces. Everywhere. Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time. It’s like screaming without a voice. They said there’d be waves. They essentially promised. They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in. Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart. But there haven’t been any waves. They were wrong. Instead the pain is dull. It is constant. But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time. The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire. It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through. They get out. This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop. It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go. It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically. I. Am. Too. Weak. Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well. But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”. And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me. There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time. There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up. And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop. In hopes that one day, I can go on without him. So I’ll pray.

0

Oct 28, 2013

Oct 28, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC

The Death Of My Twin

I will take this. I have to. Even if it breaks me. Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again. And it has. It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as “damaged goods” Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again. Normal is a thing of the past. This is what’s happening now. Broken pieces. Everywhere. Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time. It’s like screaming without a voice. They said there’d be waves. They essentially promised. They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in. Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart. But there haven’t been any waves. They were wrong. Instead the pain is dull. It is constant. But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time. The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire. It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through. They get out. This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop. It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go. It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically. I. Am. Too. Weak. Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well. But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”. And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me. There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time. There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up. And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop. In hopes that one day, I can go on without him. So I’ll pray.

36

Some don't believe it Because some can't see To most they're cloaked in invisibility But There are actually Little broken bits of human All over the ground.

0

Jul 31, 2013

Jul 31, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC

Broken Bits

Some don't believe it Because some can't see To most they're cloaked in invisibility But There are actually Little broken bits of human All over the ground.

7