opulentpetals - Hello Poetry

I've been avoiding home lately because home is where my noise turns into static into nails on a chalkboard into the grinding metal of a head-on car collision. When I ask my mother how she is doing, her mouth is flat as flat as the empty space of her bed. She is the one who can make the world believe that "I'm fine" and suffering and lonely are synonyms for one another, a language I know all too well. Living with a parent who has chronic depression means that you become the parent, too. It means making sure she leaves her bed for the day, that she doesn't drink too much every night, that she doesn't spend too much time alone. It means I will become accustomed to just how loud the silence can be. I want to yell at her with every single cell of my body, letting the reverberation chip away at the loose paint on the walls. I want to cry in front of her, but we both know just how hard that can be. This silence between us is a constant ringing in my ears that I cannot shut out Mom, it's deafening Mom, can you hear me? Mom, can't you understand that this noise is the only sound echoing these walls? Mom, when you ask me how I'm doing, I reply, "Fine."

0

Dec 23, 2015

Dec 23, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC

Reverberation

I've been avoiding home lately because home is where my noise turns into static into nails on a chalkboard into the grinding metal of a head-on car collision. When I ask my mother how she is doing, her mouth is flat as flat as the empty space of her bed. She is the one who can make the world believe that "I'm fine" and suffering and lonely are synonyms for one another, a language I know all too well. Living with a parent who has chronic depression means that you become the parent, too. It means making sure she leaves her bed for the day, that she doesn't drink too much every night, that she doesn't spend too much time alone. It means I will become accustomed to just how loud the silence can be. I want to yell at her with every single cell of my body, letting the reverberation chip away at the loose paint on the walls. I want to cry in front of her, but we both know just how hard that can be. This silence between us is a constant ringing in my ears that I cannot shut out Mom, it's deafening Mom, can you hear me? Mom, can't you understand that this noise is the only sound echoing these walls? Mom, when you ask me how I'm doing, I reply, "Fine."

28

I've spent the past four nights thinking about two things: how I should be missing you and how empty my chest feels when I realize I can't. Most days I succumb to the loneliness. My heart pounds so loudly in my hollow chest that I hope it's loud enough for you to hear, a tiphany drum of regret banging in your head. Time is spent wishing the bones inside of me would decompose into the earth. At least if I turned into a flower you would think I was beautiful. There are some days where I stand tall enough to catch a glimpse of the world in your eyes, a jubilant glimmer of hope, and for a moment I can see myself, a mere ember to your spark. But you've gotten used to sinking down to my level so often that when you peer into my eyes, there is an absence, a lack of light. I can't miss you. I'm sorry. I try, but I can't. I swear I didn't lie when I said I loved you, I meant every ******* word. Lately the world has gotten the best of me, stripping me of my vocabulary and now all I say sounds like white noise. I hurt myself to feel what it's like to feel. There's an ache in my chest where you should be, but you're too busy filling yourself with my memory. I wish I could just forget you.

0

Jul 3, 2015

Jul 3, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC

The Things You Think at 12 AM:

I've spent the past four nights thinking about two things: how I should be missing you and how empty my chest feels when I realize I can't. Most days I succumb to the loneliness. My heart pounds so loudly in my hollow chest that I hope it's loud enough for you to hear, a tiphany drum of regret banging in your head. Time is spent wishing the bones inside of me would decompose into the earth. At least if I turned into a flower you would think I was beautiful. There are some days where I stand tall enough to catch a glimpse of the world in your eyes, a jubilant glimmer of hope, and for a moment I can see myself, a mere ember to your spark. But you've gotten used to sinking down to my level so often that when you peer into my eyes, there is an absence, a lack of light. I can't miss you. I'm sorry. I try, but I can't. I swear I didn't lie when I said I loved you, I meant every ******* word. Lately the world has gotten the best of me, stripping me of my vocabulary and now all I say sounds like white noise. I hurt myself to feel what it's like to feel. There's an ache in my chest where you should be, but you're too busy filling yourself with my memory. I wish I could just forget you.

10

Your smile could paint my entire existence white Because you are everything in the spectrum, reflecting what it means to be human. I'm black darkening your days, clouding up your canvas Empty void of the negative.

0

Oct 7, 2014

Oct 7, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC

Resiliency

Your smile could paint my entire existence white Because you are everything in the spectrum, reflecting what it means to be human. I'm black darkening your days, clouding up your canvas Empty void of the negative.

9

I've been trying to fill the void in my heart that tore me apart when you left. Convinced myself that countless nights of empty gas tanks and coffee cups would make me forget you Now here I sit with a dead engine of a heart And a buzz in my head that isn't just from the caffeine confidence but the words you said to me before you left.

0

Sep 20, 2014

Sep 20, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC

Absence

I've been trying to fill the void in my heart that tore me apart when you left. Convinced myself that countless nights of empty gas tanks and coffee cups would make me forget you Now here I sit with a dead engine of a heart And a buzz in my head that isn't just from the caffeine confidence but the words you said to me before you left.

16

I've spent my teenage years disliking myself. There's this space in my chest where my heart should be, but all I feel is the ghosts of my past / present / future clawing away at my fragile bones Begging for an escape. When people ask me if I'm okay, I've adopted the occupation of ballerina rehearsing and teaching the muscles of my face to stay poised and pretty my lips bent upward at 45 degrees. If the self help books say to love your body like a temple, then why does mine feel like it's in ruins? I am a deity of disgust, a demigod of self loathing, the omniscient voice of my own oppression. If other people can be happy for me, then why the hell can't I just be happy for myself?

0

Sep 19, 2014

Sep 19, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC

Untitled

I've spent my teenage years disliking myself. There's this space in my chest where my heart should be, but all I feel is the ghosts of my past / present / future clawing away at my fragile bones Begging for an escape. When people ask me if I'm okay, I've adopted the occupation of ballerina rehearsing and teaching the muscles of my face to stay poised and pretty my lips bent upward at 45 degrees. If the self help books say to love your body like a temple, then why does mine feel like it's in ruins? I am a deity of disgust, a demigod of self loathing, the omniscient voice of my own oppression. If other people can be happy for me, then why the hell can't I just be happy for myself?

16

I'm staring up at the ceiling again Thinking of ways I could fix myself Permanent removal from a temporary life. Coincidentally, I saw your eyes before I last blinked mine Let's be honest, I was willing to go If it meant you'd look at me the same.

0

Sep 19, 2014

Sep 19, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC

2:17 AM

I'm staring up at the ceiling again Thinking of ways I could fix myself Permanent removal from a temporary life. Coincidentally, I saw your eyes before I last blinked mine Let's be honest, I was willing to go If it meant you'd look at me the same.

12