most of your nights
You steady your walk-
towards a double bed
you no longer find comfort in.
The floor wraps it's
fibers around your feet
and you cling to the carpet.
It smells new like-
this isn't a house you've
spent most of your life
what freedom feels like.
Be up early to admire
the dew again.
Let it seep
through your bones.
Soak inside of it
like moisture is your head's
only ticket to closure.
You think of her again.
Break the blades of grass
between your fingers
and convince yourself
you and precipitation
have something in common-
these tears they contribute
to your growth.
Pay attention to
the fact you lived.
Don't be mad she didn't
grief is a *****
what happens when your mothers tongue is tougher than a fist? I see more of myself in my father now than I ever did.
I don’t recall how distance came between us but in mirrors I tend to see it; in the reflection of a pint glass, the emptiness reminds me.
Stained glass vision from the intoxication. I always promised myself I would never turn into this. Pixelated morality, the lines are always blurry. I never see my smile clearly.
Funny how we always run into the things we are running away from. Where do I move forward from here?
I wrote it on my wrists one year
and then again in the powder of pain pills.
and once more inside bottles
of dark whiskey that made me forget.
Since then I have not been close to a knife
without it feeling too heavy.
Since then I have not been
able to stomach medicine.
Since then the alcohol doesn’t
go down the same.
Just makes my eyes ache
and my chest feel heavy
the intoxication isn’t fun anymore.
just a warm nostalgia
of why I started it in the first place
Even upon running away
I am reminded of it.
Even upon coping
I am reminded of it.
In the steady up and down of my breathing-
I hear yours in my ear.
In the weight of cloth upon my skin I feel them there.
So what am I to do?
When you still ruin me
from the inside.
What am I to do?
When my own father
is invalidating at every corner.
What am I to ******* do
When his Facebook comments
are thrown into my face
as he uses the word “molestation” as an insult
as something I should be ashamed of
as something that doesn’t happen but only to deface men.
What am I do to do?
When around every corner
I am reminded of what they’ve done to me?
I. Keep. *******. Walking.
this trial has taken a toll on me.
My eyes glaze over again
I don’t remember who I am here.
Stuck dissecting the parts of myself
I should already be familiar with
But my own body is unknown territory.
My own mind is a place diluted
With good intentions
And outlined in animosity.
Who should I be in this moment?
Who am I to those who love me?
Seems only a luxury of chaos.
Seems only a burden of memory.
My neck is stuck out for all of them
But they cower in the corner of my problems.
And I have no way left to solve them.
I have nowhere to go but down it seems
And everyone just keeps ******* pushing me.
I’m tripping over boundaries as if they aren’t there
Because I do not know the correct place to set them.
I always write about the body
maybe that's because this is the only way
I am actually in control of my own.
I've always been the catalyst
to another's fulfillment.
Always an optimist
but treated the opposite.
this lifestyle's got me low.
I have been holding my breath
since my skin was so delicate.
seems I haven't grown up yet.
Seems I never emotionally matured
into this body that reminds me
what loneliness tastes like-
I have been biting the inside of my cheek
because the blood reminds me I am still living,
even when I feel dead inside.
Maybe taking control over myself
inside of these words
will be enough to make me sane
and will take away the mania inside of my veins-
but I still feel you crawling all over me.
This is a recipe for disaster
my lack luster infatuation
with a happily ever after-
you can see it in the fog of my eyes.
I am slipping into a delusion
of dissociation and depersonalization
maybe this is who I am inside
and maybe I've been wrong about me this whole time.
it's hard to know who you are
when half the time you're away from yourself.
floating idly above your chance at redemption
and recovery and autonomy.
the only thing left to cling to are these memories-
and half the time they're not correct either.
where's the ******* reset
I spend too much time
pressing my worries
against the roof of my mouth-
I am surprised there is anything left of me.
My tongue acts too quickly
seems I cannot keep up
or shut up.
I am spilling these secrets
from between my lips
as if they are my savior.
please remind me
what unchapped lips taste like.
remember me in the heat of it all.
I lie to myself
because it feels
the way you did.
reminds me who to come back to.
why am I holding on to a lost soul?
why am I stuck inside this echo chamber
of apologies as if I wrote them myself.
the backs of my teeth
have gaps in between
and I realize I am more broken than whole.
I don't remember what you taste like anymore-
so I lie to myself as a reminder.
But it's never quite the same.
and I never will be either.
here i sit
pitted against myself again
i am collapsing under the weight of it all-
limboing between recovery
i don't remember who i am anymore.
haven't seen clearly in days
because all i see is her face
etched inside the mirror
in front of me.
i try to tell people what it's like
i try to remove myself from it
like it isn't my own autobiography
just someone else's
but that never works in my favor
it just causes even more disscociation
i have not been inside my own body
in 15 hours, i have counted them all.
they have sat heavy on my sternum
causing me to feel like i cannot inhale deep.
i have lost my ability
to do the one thing i have known since birth
and it is because of you.
how do you tell someone
they remind you of your abuser?
how do you let them know
that is also why you keep them around?
how do you know if you believe yourself
when you say that?
how do you know what happened to you
when the memory is lost inside time
and only shows itself when it's ready?
how do you make it ready?
how do you convince yourself you are?
none of these questions have answers,
the light of my reality is dimming slowly now
and everything around me will be dust soon
and this is not metaphor
this is how trauma eats away at my vision
at will- whenever it is hungry for my tragedy.
i hope it will subside soon
i hope these tears will satisfy it's emptiness.
i'm starting to wonder if there's any lost memory left
and then i blink and it's something else.
i wish everything wasn't so stained glass and fragile-
fragmented at the base of my eyes
projection is my only magic trick
i haven't taken a deep breath in 17 hours
i'm afraid of what it will feel like moving through my skin.
just another unwanted entity-
having control over me.