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 May 2018 Victoria Marks
Momenter
It was hard to write about being depressed
I’ve only told 3 people since it happened
And from that depression
Came the lingering anxiety
And it’s something I can’t get rid of
Like a stomach virus that leaves you weak and unstable for days to come
Except the anxiety I feel
comes and goes
and it rises with stress and uncertainty
I feel like I’m carrying my depression around like a gold medal
Except the medal weighs 100 pounds and drags on the floor and makes a loud screechy sound for the world to know
It feels like the whole world is staring at me sometimes
And I can’t be myself
I have to hide my emotions
To be accepted in a society who’s people think depression is a phase
Those people have never been depressed
And are ignorant to the fact that depression is just a nicer word for wanting to **** yourself
Flowers, flowers and more pretty flowers.
That's all one ever thinks about Spring.

What about Thorns, I ask?
But no one seems to hear me.
All they want to know about is the Rose.

As the Spring I feel compressed,
Obstructed by the Strain of the stretching length.
Crushed by the load of impounding Stress.

But, I am a Rose.

My fragrance spreads joy to a billion others,
But no one releases me from the Thorn that binds me.

They're scared they say,
And I don't blame them.
For I beat myself to become this Rose.

So I stand, as Spring does,
Watched by a million eyes.

I bounce when the Stress of Summer arrives,
To live carefree another day.

Only to realize I've trampled on the Thorn.
The Thorn that Strains to cut the Rose away.
 May 2018 Victoria Marks
Lynn
Cut
 May 2018 Victoria Marks
Lynn
Cut
Whenever I cut I feel okay at first-
I feel calm and mellowed down-
and then the wave of guilt hits me.

Its almost like eating a Warhead candy
and forgetting how repulsively sour they are.

Or like forgetting to stir your Greek yogurt-
then it leaves a foul taste at the back of your throat.

Instead of a terrible sour flavor,
or a nasty taste at the back of my throat-
I get the urge to ***** after I cut.
I don't know whether its guilt... or what.
But I hate it

-Lynn
ah !
Driven mad by society
Now I suffer from anxiety
Fighting for survival
But I became suicidal

Looking for protection
As I battle this depression
But no one seemed to care
Yeah, no one was ever there

The cuts on my wrist
And the bruises on my fists
Are just a small price to pay
For the happiness I crave

Fighting pain with pain
Comes with very little gain
Except for the small grin
That comes at the very end

A smile before I end it
And no one could prevent it
Well they could, but didn't try
Now they sit and wonder why
Once upon a mind.


A lonely soul sleeps inside my heart.
It has given up on trying to be my star.
The light has dimmed; the finish has begun to become duller.
I have never been anything other than sullen
And now my soul is no watercolour.


Scatter no seeds, for nothing will grow,
Inside this black hole that I call my soul.
I cannot take hold of a direction in which to go,
Because I am unable to see ahead, when I am without hope.


No more, no less;
The same phrase repeats again.
What more can I say when all is gone so far away?
Out of reach, but never out of mind;
Still it lingers at the fore front of a head without design.
Clutter, splutter, mix me with resent;
No chance to repent,
No choice to have left.


Just left behind, by a love life that has moved on to be happy
And found itself a new home, as I lie inside my cemetery.
Gone from this diseased soul, formed from insecurities.
It has escaped and taken my heart with it and from me.
Now I am soulless and never free to dream without regret.
Continuously delirious,
So easy to detest.
Once upon a mind, love has exploded
And now there is no trace left.


No Jessica Rabbit to find,
No saving emo.
No happy me;
Just where ego, I go.


My body moves of its own accord.
I am too bored to give it orders,
When I am busy crawling up the wall,
In search of just one thing that even matters!
Life is no adventure and I am the mad hatter.


Lost in a wonderland of my own mind’s creations.
I fall down (a rabbit hole) and break an ankle.
I am no longer in contention,
To be a contender for the title of most loved.
Just stuck in the mud with no tears left to wash it all off;
Gone is my chosen destiny…I have given up.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
 May 2018 Victoria Marks
Jermon
Schizophrenic, Autistic, ADHD,
Each a mind of their own,
Who says it's wrong?
Just a different perspective,

What right do we have to say
That it's not okay
When so many of us 'normal' brains
Have got it all wrong?
After all

It's how you look at the world
And that's how they look at it.
Beautiful minds, beautiful minds
With wonderful thoughts of all kinds

I wish I could see
A taste of the world they call theirs
I wish I could feel
Their hearts racing along with their thoughts
I wish they would share their world with me

So that they wouldn't have to face
That colourful world on their own

I wish they would let me in
Instead of locking it up all inside
I wish I could share life with them
Instead of dying with every stride

Beautiful minds, beautiful minds
But they don't know that, do they?
They've never felt the world
From this side of the mind

I need to escape
Into their world
Because I wouldn't want to face
Mine.
28.05.2018
Autistic spectrum 'disorder' is just a different perspective of the world, just like each one of us do. Or is it?
Ink scrawled on a torn scrap of paper incensed with dire intent and the stink of fear,
to scented stationary with loopy handwriting and 'I's dotted with hearts.
There is no real comparison, is there?
But each is a letter to those the writer cares about,
informing them of
a milestone decision.
Each letter is a turning point
that cannot be taken back,
symbolism of an end
and a new beginning.
Whichever way you look at it,
each paper, lined with letters,
is a flirt, with endings or otherwise.
Really, how different is death to love?
Are they really so dissimilar?

h.f.m.
There is a boy,
A presence stumbled upon in the shadows,
He hides his face to conceal his identity,
I see his flaws, but no one points at them and laughs,
He is surrounded by rusty chairs and a cloud of darkness,

He does not speak.
He does not think.
He simply stares at the world.

An empty dreamer with all intentions of barking,
He wants me,
I see him,
But my soul is engraved for another,
This boy,

I want to know what he desires.
I want to know if he stares at me for a "hello".
I want his attention.

The next day, he is gone,
A glimpse of his presence is captured, but not saved,
A figure of darkness and a corner of loneliness,
Shaded patterns of sadness echo in my senses,
Silently pushing me towards the abyss,

A face of fade.
A smile so still.
A beautiful soul trapped beneath a blank, stern, and silent scope.

I still want to know what he thinks,
My future is set in place, but is watched by the dark,
This boy needs light,
He needs a guardian,
To graduate with a wing of gold,

This foggy corner represents a relationship.
This boy signifies change.
This darkness is my unhappiness.

A narrative poem broken down into three sentences,
But do not be blind to the objective,
The words beneath the cracks,
I write about a boy,
A second image pierces my periferells,

On the left, is love.
On the right, is curiousity.
On the real, curiousity kills the cat.

I killed the boy,
I shot his nerves, point blank, with the roll of my eyes,
I just need attention,
I need constant attraction,
I adore his love,
I cherish my love for him,
Engraved in darkness,
Altered by a corner,
Continuous attention feeds my emptiness,
Until,
I,
Fade away,
Into my dark corner.
Written in Fall of 2008. Recently edited. From the perspective of "my love". The font from "Altered by a corner" to "Into my dark corner" should gradually decrease in font size, but I could not edit in that way.
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