I stare at nothing.
That space between myself and something.
Nothing is the air, the molecules, and dust.
I stare at nothing to let my brain come up with something.
Some reason to live, to sleep, to eat.
I stare at nothing.
I do not stare at something.

A lavender field
Grown in the dark of my room
Lulling me to sleep

On and Off
Up and Down
Front and Back
White and Black
Cold and Hot
Happy and Sad
Ice and Heat
Blade and Skin
Blood and Bandaid

Orion, Orion,
run through the sky.
Shoot Polaris through the heart
and drag it down to earth.

Orion, Orion,
lasso up the moon.
Roll it round the world
and create a crescent smile.

Orion, Orion,
chase the northern lights.
Herd them down to the south
to join with their brothers and sisters.

Orion, Orion,
take a look at your belt.
And travel to the stars that sew
your clothing all together.

Orion, Orion,
please take me on a journey.
Capture me as I walk
and bring me up to you.

Orion, Orion,
let me live with you.
In the sky and in the stars
with the moon by my side.

Orion, Orion,
please become my friend.
Take me away from this hell I live
on this earth that is breaking down.

I walk to nowhere
                                                         ­                        in particular;

walking through my mind to my soul.
I find darkened, thorny paths
used by demons                                                           ­           
and bright, soft paths
                                                           ­       used by angels.

-
But I take none.
-

I forge my own path through
thorns                                                   ­                   
and
                                                            ­                meadows
creating a newer journey
that none have seen
to an end that I could never
                                                           ­       believe.

~Except~

-
I made it there.
-

To an end with crystal waterfalls
running to a see through pond.
No dirt but gems, winking at the sky.
Surrounded by benches of willing trees
and boulders
waiting for a climb.

Roses dancing through the grasses,
                                                        ­       fallen petals form the road
thorny stems weaving protection,                                                      ­
walling in my peace.

If you find me then you will see
                                                  me sitting in the shade
                                                        or swimming in the water
                                                         or climbing on my friends.

-
Here.
-

You will find me
all alone                                          
in the place
                                    I want to be.

If you look at what I wear,
would you think I have a problem?

Flowing skirts over colorful tights,
fashion shoes and non-matching belts,
leather jackets with layered shirts,
purple hair and bright blue eyes.
My appearance screams confidence, character, joy.

What if you see instead of look?

Not a day goes by without long sleeves.
No shorts or skirts above the knee unless they cover tights.
Never crop tops or low cut pants.

I hide myself in confident clothes
so you can’t see the opposite truth.

Wearing a fun skirt
Spinning in circles, dancing
Hiding painful truths

Fading purple hair
Curls and frizz hiding the face
The sad, frowning mouth

Wear sleeves to the wrist
Fashion, layering the shirts
Hiding skin of scars

****; Stupid body
****; Mind control of the soul
Hell; Where she lives now

If I have a significant other,
how will I tell them about my problems?

Starting the conversation about
scars
that are all over my body.
Will they be able to love it?

The conversation about
mental illness
that takes over my soul.
Will they be able to love me?

If I have a significant other,
how will they accept me
for who I am now,
and who I once was?

If I show you these scars what will you think?
The purple ones on my thigh,
the thin pink ones on my stomach,
the thick, raised ones on my arm,
and the small red ones on my wrist.

If I tell you the reasons what will you say?
The self hatred in my heart,
the numb feelings in my soul,
the racing thoughts in my head,
and the moving fingers of my hand.

If I ask you to love me will you tell the truth?
If I ask myself to love me will I tell the truth?
In the end will I go back to what I know?
In the end will I go back to the blades who hold my heart?
The blades who have hold of my soul?

I did it again.
I broke my will.
With a broken razor and fallen blades.
Tools to cut leg hair made into small knifes.
Cutting into skin again and again.
Until the blood stops to pool and starts to drip into a river.
Watch it flow, hold a tissue so as not to ruin the rug.
Stained tissue, bright red.
Next to pink skin surrounding puffed, red, marks.
Wipe it up and clean it up.
Make it so I don’t have to go to the Doctor.
Infection, such a needy *****.
All done, but don’t pull out bandaids.
The wrappers will yell the story to mom.
Mom will tell dad, and together they will offer support.
Support from family members who don’t understand.
Who are sad when I need ice to control my urges.
Why would I let them know that it didn’t work?
That in the pretend safety of the bathroom, I went from diving to cutting.
In just a few seconds.

Growing thorns protect
Cut from the nutritious ground
Hung until they break

I
Me
Myself

The pyramid of importance.
The pyramid of selfishness.
The pyramid of tragedy.

Depending on how you perceive it.

I forget things.
I forget that I can do things.

I forget that even though I have no energy I can do things.

I can take a nap.
I can take a shower.
I can play with my cat.

I forget that even though I have no motivation I can do things.

I can watch tv.
I can do a puzzle.
I can roll out of bed.

I forget that even though I have a mental illness I can do things.

I can be happy.
I can love myself.
I can be worth loving.

Even if it takes time to remember
that I can.

I wonder what you think
when you see a spinning
woman.

A woman wearing
dark colors and bright tights
and tutus.

A woman who hides
herself in what she
doesn't wear.

A woman who shows
who she is in what
she spins in.

I wonder what you think
when you see a woman spinning
and that woman is me.

My mind is
a Van Gogh painting.
Swirls of color
true to feelings
and full of truth.

There are shades of blue
and grey
and black.
They run together
in the feelings of darkness
and truth of depression.

There are shades of orange
and yellow
and red.
They run together
in feelings of nervousness
and truth of anxiety.

There are shades of purple
and pink
and gold.
They run together
in feelings of love
and truth of joy.

The colors run.
The feelings mix.
The truths disappear.
Into the mind
of the sick girl.
Who doesn't look it.

From online forums I’m told stories of understanding.
Sitting on a couch I receive trained validation.
Around a table I join the minds of similar people.
Songs scream of emotions felt.
Family waits for me to speak and hugs me when I do.
Animals sit at my feet and lick my hands.
I’m never alone.
But I don’t receive support from the person who matters most.
Me.