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Sid Eli A Feb 15
Hi baby girl. I figured I would type you up a letter instead. I just wanted to imagine that you're here and I am reading this to me while I cuddle up to you. My life has been extremely hectic filled with emotions. I want to thank you for being there in whatever way you could. You are so talented and beautiful. I really think its hot that you have all the skills and artistic value. I want to see you play live one day. I think you grew a lot with me at least knowing triggers. Even if things go crashing down I still want to hold your hand and be next to you. Its very difficult to have this seperation and it makes me sad most of the time. I tell my self it's going to happen. You so gorgeous babe, I'm proud to have you.
Sid Eli A Aug 2015
I see rivers
Washing away the left over dust
Ashes within the air
The world is on fire

I see dandelions
Blowing up into the air
Endless wishing, wanting, yearning
Where will the remains end up?

I see eyes
That genuinely smile back at me
That clenches my heart and surrounds me with warmth
All at the same time
But where will this end up?

I see you
Holding me bare flesh and flesh
As you embrace me with your touch
But hold on...
Do you want to be with me?

I see myself
Holding my heart with my hand over my chest
Unable to realize what I have lost
Was it even there?

I see an endless dialogue
Filled with angst, resentment, despair
As you tell me...
"I've been thinking"
"No, I don't want to be with you"

I see gifts
Left in the graveyard of my small chaotic room
They were meant for something, someone, me
These gifts are memorials of the memory
Of you.

I feel you, beloved
You are still there within distances and the faint memory of your smell
I can't help to love you
But these memories are here to withstand
The jolting realization

"I don't want you. It ends here"
Sid Eli A Aug 2014
Second Person Narrative
© Cynthia Eli Theo

                                       Basement Studio

You always told me I would be a good girl; locks that shine golden red fall upon my pale dimpled cheeks. (Smile little girl, we are taking your picture). As soon as the set is over you plop down to the couch and say “Baby, why don’t you get me a cold beer” and you then start clicking away at the television trying to find the loudest, most obnoxious channel. Even though my legs are weak and my body is bruised you still make me a slave for you. You say, “Hey what’s taking you so long? I don’t pay you for nothing!” and laugh in a tone that makes me think of driving a sharp knife through your worthless body part, that you pride so much. Your eyes lock instantly to this one commercial of a guy feeding his panting dog, you chuckle lightly.
You told me I would love this experience, that it would be professional and beneficial for my career. Every night you roll into bed with a smirk of content and feel as though you are successful, you are powerful; you are the proudest photographer and most of all: you have a young girl at your side, every single day of your most pathetic life. Before you fall asleep you immediately think about the door. Is it locked from the inside? We don’t want your sweet little girl escaping to the harsh cold world. You think you are protecting me. You think that I deserve this.
This night is different from most nights. You sigh, and then begin to have a pain in your chest and your mind becomes full. Images of your life start flashing in your mind. You then start thinking in your head (something you don’t often do). You think of your mother, the one that kicked you out when you were only fifteen years old. You still have plans of going back there and giving her a piece of your mind (if you have one). You think of Tony, the slob who always has some random food on his shirt who owes you thousands for the stuff you have given him during the years. You think about tomorrow, the photos you want to take of me, and the poses you want to put me in. I’m your little doll, your little play thing, I’m the one who is going to make you big in the industry. Will this achievement, help your tragic pathetic life? We all have problems, but why put this out on me? Does my pain give you a rise? Does this make you feel accomplished? Of course my voice will never be heard, my mouth is only good to turn people one. I know that when I wear red lip stick (the signature of my character), you stop for a second and think of your baby sister, because when she was a little girl she use to wear your mothers shoes and put bright red lip stick on her lips and smudge it all over her teeth.
You miss her; you often worry about whether or not she’s okay. You remember the times you use to play with her in the back yard, ***** tires being swung, wet soggy grass between your toes, burnt red skin and warm kool-aid. Here you are being successful and she’s in the streets, probably selling her body for a profit. You then think, maybe you are wrong for keeping this innocent girl here, you suddenly become human with emotions. But then you go back to convincing yourself that it isn't that bad, I wanted it. I came to you anyway. You then softly fall asleep; your worries don’t bother you. Tomorrow your plans entail tying me up and allowing a little blood to show.
All Rights Reserved, not for public use.
Sid Eli A Apr 2014
© Sid Eli Theo
Please meet me now
I forever want to see your pretty face
Because beauty is within my eyes and I see you
as this pretty thing

Tell me more, I want to hear your voice
as you say out loud you aren't even
I ignore it and still look at you with gleaming eyes
I want a kiss

I put my arms around you
And ask what do you think I am thinking
As I hold on tight
And go in for the kiss

But you push away and say no.

No. Is my answer.
I am not a pretty little thing.
I am someone looking for something
to connect with this feeling
that life is ending soon
and we are all just souls
holding on to the edges of the melting ***
looking for sincerity.

Learn boundaries folks, no one wants a pushy creep.
Wishing this wasn't a true story.

All Rights Reserved. Not for public use.
Sid Eli A Mar 2014
© Cynthia Eli Theo
At age of 26, I finally found my fix
It was a chick, with a crazy haircut (you thought I was going to say d*ck)
and imitation chucks

The intimate moments
Hoodie up , fake fur, against the wall.
The moment I saw you, was our first kiss.
As requested:
"I always wanted to kiss someone as soon as I laid eyes on them"

Wish granted.

I remember in the gay bar, when you first called me ***
You were so accommodating
Ending with the night of a three way dance off on the dance floor, me in the middle of the

Can you imagine what happened with us later on in life?
That twisted dreams became a reality and it
became hurt.

You swore you were a God(dess)
with no dresses
or heels
Only messed up hand me downs
And no eyebrows

I looked back on logs and you said the "I love yous" and "be mine" within the first moments.
Reflecting on my thoughts

You were my love
and I was yours
we were infinity infamous

Mental illness
Drug Abuse
Insecurities got a hold of our throats
Slitting us apart
Self blaming; It's all my fault.
I created this disaster, right?
Baby, do you hear me?
Boy do I blame myself for this mess-up
Bat-**** crazy relationship chaotic lovely ****** energy
Lack thereof.

Lip locking, hair pulling, scratching
Enter warmth and lovingly caressing
Screaming out "I love you!" but "I'm hurting"

"Shut up" was your last words.
I decided it was enough.
as Do you still have my letter?
I wrote it to you, with personal wetness of tears shedding
as you peacefully slept on my bed.

And now you sit still in your room
Itching away, crawling up the walls
as I type this poem on my lonely laptop
I reach out to you, blowing you a kiss

Hoping it was a never a goodbye.
All Rights Reserved, not for public use.
Sid Eli A Mar 2014
She sighs with relief but also despair. The reason why she doesn't like her strawberry blonde curls and requirement to dress feminine are reasons beyond comprehension for her. She always felt that something deep inside her wanted to be Ben. He's Irish, filled with charisma, independent success and sure knows how to wear a thin gold chain. He gets the looks as he walks down the city streets and everyone memorized by his swag. He sings about the pacific northwest with extreme pride, and describes Seattle hip-hop community, human rights issues and major league baseball. She wanted to get fitted flannels, various colored slacks, suave kicks and shave the side of her hair.

While she was going through an abusive relationship when her lover had fallen to a secondary abuse (to only replace the first one), she listened to his words, we are not alone and things are ****** up but there might be a way out. The memories of going down the block during who knows what time, to smoke her pipe and dodge people completely. Endlessly walking down the streets and pondering....blank. Anxiety slowly creeping as she knows her partner is coming home, a full panic sets in and she isn't prepared for whats to come. It's laundry day, which means X amount of time for her to get angry with me, argue and sit there with emotional chaos. It is hard for her to think of these things because she didn't want to believe this was her reality, and she didn't know how to get out. She had bruises on her body that she can't keep track if it was to get away or not, she never set blame on anyone causing them.  Endless nights of constant panic and worry, with her partner slamming out the door and walking around aimlessly and never returning. And when she was alone...totally encapsulated, bed ridden and locking up the doors. Rent was day was always a threat, and so was the debt she had owed me. Oh, and that promise ring that never came that she was so selfish to want, but she wanted to feel special, she wanted to feel loved. She wanted to know why this kept happening to her.

Nothing could make this feeling go away, because the same thing has happened again and she cannot bare to compare. The hopes of rebuilding are there. It's just that mental illness is getting in the way.

She notices she passed out while smoking, turns on her PC and starts another shift.
Sid Eli A Mar 2014
She opened her eyes and realized the day is here. Some light glowing through her tiny basement window, we're lucky to just have some glow. That's the Pacific Northwest alright. Seasonal depression is a trend, you know? She knew she had an obligation today and she had to at least somewhat prepare for whats to come. She didn't want to get ready, she wanted to lay in bed with her kitten and imagine life without rules and regulations, bills and break ups, roommates that make too much noise and the dripping furnace in her room. She noticed she wore her red robe to bed and had total bed head (she always had a mirror right next to her bed, secretly to check up on any imperfections to avoid for the day). She got up, dragging her slippers on the floor and hardly dealing with the sun in her eyes. She went for her fridge hoping there was something to eat in it, gave up and sipped some orange juice (it's been days since she has...). She returned to her cave of a room and grabbed her raggedy make up bag. She hated this process, this wasn't her. It was uncomfortable to wear eyeliner, getting into her eyeballs, it's just not natural! Sliding pale pink lipstick across her lips and puckering up into the mirror with only a somewhat decent effort. Yes, she's crazy, I'm not sure Courtney Love status crazy, though. She put her hand on her neck and remembered last night. Full of regret even though nothing happened. She looked at her neck through the mirror trying to find evidence of her lover. Nothing was there, not even the feeling of soreness. But why? All the sudden she feels it come on. Get ready, it's time for a panic attack! It first starts with a tightness in the chest, heart pounding and you feel it in your head, trying to breathe and realizing this *****, and then the wake up call that something is wrong, closing in on the throat and the feeling that this will never end. She goes to her medication bottle and realize there's only 4 left. Knowing this tragic news, she questioned whether or not this is a big enough crisis. She felt like a fiend anytime she took them, or needed them because that's what her twisted psychiatrist put in her head.
She takes the pill, downing old water from the night before. She sits down on her bed and turns her computer on. Fidgeting and fill of worry. Sigh. I don't want this day to begin, if yesterday wasn't over. Let's avoid the mellow dramatic and move on to what I have to do. She then goes for her underwear drawer and picks out the pinkest, frilliest piece of underwear she could find and of course, all the rest of her body was bare. She never liked wearing them, let alone clothing. They were uncomfortable and it wasn't that desirable to wear it all for other peoples eyes. She wants to stay in her male boxer shorts that are a little too big for her. She then slid everything on so fast. Look at the time 2:09 PM, just a few more minutes until it starts. She logs in automatically and sits down, adjusts the lights and makes sure the camera is working. She prepares herself.

Later on she now is under the blankets trying to forget what she did today. The aching pain never going away and it is constantly in her mind on how she is alone, with no one cradling her or telling her its okay. She knows that she needs to make the money, in order to live, but if this is living, what is life? It's okay though, she made 1,800 gold coins today and that covers rent. Rent, credit card bills, always checking her balance freaking out that she doesn't even have bus fair to get food or go on interviews.

This is a sob story, about someone who is ultimately ridiculous and very very very determined.
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