Spoke to God recently
told him I'm lonely
told him that my friends keep leaving me
that it hurts
that I'm feeling weak
empty

He told me

as the anxiety was sinking deep

You don't see what I see
The beautiful people you shall someday meet

There is a future beyond your track record
that fills you will disappointment
and isolation
every time you think - overthink about it

But you are not filled with the things you keep telling yourself

or defined by your circumstances that seem to confirm your feelings

You are filled with me
Full of promise
and
Love that eradicates fear
a Lionees
that is not waiting to be loved
but waiting to be her full powerful beautiful self

your loneliness is cured in knowing yourself with Me

Too many expectations;

with too much reality

causes

too much disappointment

and too little

euphoria for me

:) hi

Push back that limp piece of hair behind the thinness of your ears
and look at yourself full on, no make-up, or mask, or paint or picture
just DNA,
yours.

I see waves of songs and lyrics attached to flesh, can you hear it?
That transcendental vocal  like a babies cry and a mother tender eye,
a demise too immortal for human opinion.

But I know you hear it too, the other sound of lies that are inescapable
and so pungent it turns milk sour and crushes noses
you take small bites, and pretend to dance
as you listen to that melody as if it was truth

but darling its not truth,
for the acne scars, and full lips, the birthmarks and stolen hips,
flat chest, and dent of skin, is beautiful to me cause I see what's flowing from within

I want to be left alone
yet I want someone to talk to me
I want to drown in my thoughts
but cant stop thinking, thinking about that one thought that is killing me
I wish and pray and scream for a way out of this misery
and when it does come I can't handle it; the normality,
the security...
the unfamiliar thing called happiness
the suspense of what will happen next
....Because those things don't come easy
or free to me

What's wrong with me?

Shower cry's
late nights
silver highs,
running lights
bruised limbs
strangled throats
looking for

our suicide notes

'Nothing bad is going to happen'

is the alternative thought that

I wish would stop me bleeding.

He said she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.
She replied, monotone 'You obviously haven't seen enough girls, if its me'

Irrational thoughts come streaming
like destructive fireworks, grenades awaiting to blow
bombs of anxiety that
sit and tick in my brain.

These clock faces are making me go insane.

Yes, I know doctor
I know, mother
the thoughts are not true
that he will control me if I speak to soon
that they hate me because I said I like the colour blue
that I will be alone and everyone else will find true

love.

For people smile at me through gleaming eyes
and glossy lips
with no idea of the hit and miss.

Can they not see the internal hell that wages a war inside this shell of a body?
Can they not see as I hold a conversation, the fear in the corners of my eyes?
Can they not see me back bend, shoulders over as my chest fills with pain, an anchor weighing me down to the depts of the sea.

I smile back and walk on
head down,
try not to see, hear or feel
the invisible figures that

taunt me.

I sit in a park in central London.
Observing the passers by,
with skins of coco, porcelain and almond
we are unified by this thing called being human.

As the blur of faces pass,
I wonder about occupation...past life...
the things that go through everyone's minds.
Even the,
buying tomorrows chicken, going to go fishing
staying up past 10, staring at the kitchen.

Sometimes solitude can be overwhelming
I wish someone would ask how I'm doing.
But this city is not for friends
for I could talk to a silver statue and still feel warmer

that when I'm with you.

Throwing her religion down my throat
fuels my anxiety
the ''I am saved and better than you and your going to hell'' starts so much OCD
Her eyes are truly serious; dead, and prideful
a piece of a cardboard,
box of a person who sold her soul to fear.

Though when I read the New Test
and see the broken mesh of people.
That man who walked with sinners like me
and slept alone on concrete floors
when none cared he was God,
and looked into eyes of the lost with such love
I know he never called us from above

to sit and judge,
others.

Words are a mere cover that hides a decaying heart.

Eyes wide at 1 am
thinking about tomorrow
if it shall come and will it be like yesterday.

I turn away.

For the stale breath thought of future
congealed and anxious heart beats
drumming in syncopated rhythms
panic stricken
eyes closed
watch me
fade like mist
or shine like stars
the strange horizons
wait for me
to feel anything,
to stop count the hours  
and rest in the fact

its a new day..

Do you ever feel like you just don't fit in

to all the cracks and cliques

that society puts you in.

Or do you ever slightly fear being fully yourself,

scared of the raised eyebrows and curious eyes

that
dig
dig
dig into your timid soul..

I try and solve this by putting up walls made of paper

that slowly turn to concrete, a roof, a cave, a den, a house,

away away on a hill side,

so that they can't get in or smell or see

the beast that they've made of me.

For they love to toss me two and fro
with words and chatter. Vulchers * of
*'Why do you look, talk, dress like that'
There mouths like open caves I can see there teeth,
rotten and decaying.
Graves stones.

I don't want to explain
I don't want to talk
I walk away alone
and peer through windows
watching them silently turn to stone,
mannequins of each other
letting my spirit grow.

-

To me it means sacrifice
to hide who I am
never
For I'll find people
who know and understand

what its like to be
ostracized
beaten,
battered,
and
killed over and over again,

all for just wanting to live,
for just wanting to be human.

People forget we are all human.

What if
                 you spend your whole life
                                                            ­       in the dark, waiting for the traffic

lights to start

and when it finally does go green
                                                           ­ you stair at it helplessly
and whisper

''God, help me''

I eat until my chest hurts
ignoring the fact my acidic heart  
wills, calls, shouts for me to stop (hurting)
myself

For I know once the sweet oozing gold runs down my throat and
calms the feelings of an anxiety disorder,
it will quickly strike to a halt
and evaporates as quickly as it came
turning gold to rust;
and comfort pain.


It leaves me more bruised, battered and empty
(this is high class gluttony)

than when I cut my fingers from unwrapping the packaging.

yet

the void remains unfilled
and I'm no longer happy

©Rebekah Lazarus 2014

I've only been on this earth for 17 years
But already had the good honour of experiencing
evil and good from the youth of my peers

My precious vessel, you deserve nothing but the best
learn from my mistakes and make your life rest

One: The acne on your face does not determine how beautiful you as a person
Neither you're weight, height or stature. Your skin a shade of wonder, wear only the (dna) makeup of me and your father

Two: Your body is your temple, not a museum for those who want to feast on your flesh, for those dead eyes are shady and they want nothing less.

Three: Fall in love with everything around you, the stars, sky and moon. The sound of laughter, the rain drops too. Look from balconies and trees at the veins of the cities. And take pictures of people and weddings, savouring silver white memories.

Four: Make your own mistakes and learn. You are allowed to feel pain, there is still blood in you veins but don't let that sweep you away away away on dandelion heads

Five: Dearest, don't worry for a moment what they think; be prepared when they want to see you sink, respond with dimples, sunshine and light. For this is what makes the darkness strike

Six: Finally My girl love yourself, for all that you are and want to be; the music you love, the food you detest, those long family outings and that boy that you like best.

The list could go on and on with verse and song and book and word but Dear Daughter let this be the basis of your life. Carry it and write it on your flesh beating heart. For your flesh beating heart deserves life in it fullest.

©Rebekah Lazarus 2014

I am a grenade in his arms
burning, fire destructive
still He holds me

I am a lost stream of strange desires
of sin and sorrow and addiction
still, He is with me

I am a beast that no-one wants to love
a home built in caves of shadows and darkness
still He sees me

His love is an avalanche,
His forgiveness meant death,
His power is God.

Who is like you Jesus?

At night I feel alive
by day I feel death
is it because I have
a silver bullet in my chest?

Is it from the empty spaces of the bed
or the words you left ringing...

Or simply because I don't want you,
to see
the beast you've

made

of me

©Rebekah Lazarus 2014

Sara always thought love was a feeling
a tender warm wave of yearning
a cord between her and her lover
it was made of rubies, gold, and silver

She'd dance in the shower
at the thought of his arms around her.
She'd put their cord in her jewellery box,
the highest shelf. Watching it never wither

But

Sometime later, when the cracks began to show and the lines deepened in her skin

Sara saw her lovers eye's turn from morning to night,
she realised the bruises on her skin were from not peeling the potatoes right
The endless stream of tears that flowed from her eyes; pearls
Were produced by his screams and his might.

She lay uncomfortable in his rock hard arms
as she listened to a never ending song of 'I'm sorry, I love you''
he'd kiss her softly with blood cracked lips.
She new this was a love that wouldn't be missed

For her mother always said ''love is not just a feeling but adoration in action
Its kind, patient, loving, remember you are a blessing.''

For her heart was crazed from the mistakes he made
with a cynical mind-set that she was the bait

for the biggest action she could take
to show she was still capable of loving

was cut the cord, sell the gold and take her life back
to show she was still made of something.

©Rebekah Lazarus 2014

The past can make it so easy to relapse

not because of the past itself

but

running away from it

and burying it in the subconscious,

hiding it away and letting it silently

fest fest fest.

Is what causes you to be haunted.

---

Pain;

A raging sore, a deep wound, an eternal scar,

just wants to be felt; acknowledged.

So I try not, to ignore it

when I see the marks of the past; knives

digging into the valves of my heart; pain

even when it comes back

strong and hard and fighting

like a hurricane

carrying me away under water

suffocating the freedom in my punctured lungs

I will not let it destroy me.

—-

Its not because I am weak that I struggle with it

but the brain is strong; be aware...

For thoughts can make you a victim of your own mind

though I hope
there will be a time when

healing, that miraculous God-sent healing is at the end.

When

you stop ignoring the past

and instead start loving those broken pieces, the shame you felt,

the fear that crippled

and realise

it will soon ease, soon melt away, soon diminish

and you’ll remember

**pain has no authority to hurt