I had grown
from the blood—
grown
from that pain,
grown from those
who left me behind that day.
Yet when I grew,
covered in blood, sweat, and tears,
I didn’t realize how tainted I was—
with new fears,
new unimaginable pain,
new illness,
all said to be “framed.”
I grew—
yet they left me broken,
with more blood
that keeps clotting up.
Now my future is clotting—
with that blood,
that regret,
that pain,
that shame
of not speaking up
when I could have—
of leaving myself
with this new pain.
Even though I can’t go back,
this growth
has left me
permanently
changed.

I can’t keep thinking
When my head
Keeps on spinning.
It’s all too dizzying.
The demons are lurking,
The shadows that creep,
The pain that climbs up
From my feet.
They greet me
With blood—
Their hollowed stare,
Knowing I can’t stop them,
'Cause even fighting for breath
Is fighting through
Metallic, smoke-filled air.
The chest pain
That illuminates
Like a firework
Through my lungs—
No pain I have ever
Been able to tame.
My heart working overtime,
With only a slow whistle
Or gurgle bubbling out.
I don’t understand—and never have—
What brought this about.
Each pain
That ignites
Like fire
Is a missile
In waves.
My body doesn’t feel
Like mine anymore.
My body is giving up trying,
No matter how much
I try to fight it
Or be brave.
I can’t fight this—
This everyday pain,
The everyday night terrors,
The everyday hallucinations.
Blame.
All the headaches,
All the tics,
All the “seizures”
With no fix.
All the
Fidgeting,
The loss—
The game of life
Is taking me down.
You say I'm “not hurting,”
You say “there’s no way.”
You say that I'm faking it
For attention.
But you’re not in my body.
You don’t see what I see,
You don’t hear what I hear,
Or notice from my POV.
It’s not fair—
The way you spread my words
With new twists
That never even came to exist,
Like a discounted fare.
I’m stuck in the mud,
Stuck in the swamp,
Fighting my body,
My brain,
My thoughts.
I’m fighting
It all—
But I'm stuck
Far beyond.
Trapped in the murk
That’s held me for
Years.
That’s why it feels like it’s
Dragged on for so long.
I’m getting help now…
But…
Will it ever work?
The pulling and pushing,
The tearing and screams,
The crying,
The pain
That never recedes.
I know I can fight,
I know I'm strong.
I just… am falling apart
In a new world—
New tornados
Keep coming unfurled.

This is what i can only DESCRIBE as what I HEAR in the asylum..
….. this was a painful for me as it’s about bed time.. and it another night of HELL… (PLEASE SAVE ME)

Ear splitting
Shrieking
Gasping/ gulping for air
Engulfing
Echoing
Bloodcurdling
Pericing
Prettifying
Roaring
Howling
Anguished
Frantic
Strangled
Un-human
Ripping
Tearing
Throbbing
Jabbing
Ear splitting
Drowning
Whistling

I tried to get help
I communicated I was hurting
MULTIPLE TIMES

I had EPISODES
Right in front of your face
That doctors have diagnosed
BECAUSE MY BODY AND BRAIN
IS ACTUALLY shutting down

These are the words—
on all the paper work,
I have found.

“Attention seeker”

LIKE I WANT TO LIVE WITH THIS CRAP  
Then Im told to say
“Im fine” at home
Because there tired of hearing me “complain”
Im done..
I’m so done with this crap

I’m about ready to let my body take over..
If my body WANTS
To have tics..
Let that happen
I WONT subdue the seizures
I WONT hide my face
I WONT DENY THE FACT IM NOT OKAY

UNTIL I get the help I NEED
So
Everyone
IVE GIVEN UP
“stopping/ trying—“
To “control”
My body
I will let MY BODY
if it wants that
Cause Ive lost all control
I can’t stop it anyways…

IM NOT
Hurting myself
I DONT
want to die

But Ive given up trying it be “okay”

When I’m ACTUALLY dying on
The outside and inside.

They can SAY whatever the HELL they want
Doctors can say they can’t “find anything”
But I can’t keep “going”
The PATH Im ON right now
To “take control of myself”

When I HAVE NO CONTROL ANYMORE.

—4 months— (and counting)

of a period that has NEVER stopped once..

—4 months—

Of Severe pain that feels like my organs are being ripped out,
While being stabbed with a knife— right through my stomach.

—4 months—

Of being ignored saying “this pill should work” OR “this shot should do the trick”

—4 months—

OF bleeding COMPLETELY through the LARGEST ****** physically made in 10 MINUTES.
(That includes bleeding through pants/shorts, pad, AND underwear)

—4 months—

Of heating packs that smell of wet paint and blood

—4 months—
Of MIDOL that (at it’s highest dose— has failed)

—4 months—
OF STRAIGHT HELL
US WOMEN ARE TOLD WERE DRAMATIC
I HIDE THIS ALL DAY—EVERY DAY
ALL NIGHT-EVERY NIGHT
IM TOLD TO THE **** IT UP
AND BE A WOMEN

This has been my life for 4 STRAIGHT months
This period is a NEW level of HELL
I was told women-hood was
“Hard”
It was “a little painful”
But they didn’t say it would be
THIS.

WELCOME..
To my HELL counter..
I am counting on 4 straight months of a FULL period
NEVER stopping under ALL meds and ways possible

Its 4 months and COUNTING

Welcome to my journey

When will
HELL…
Be over….

When does the pain stop?
When will they know?
When will they realize?
They can’t cover up my pain—
“For show”  

I almost died.
I’m still dying,
STILL Now,
CONTINUED then.

Which was—
not-so-long-ago.

They said they could help—
But made it worse.

I’m being ignored,
Appointments are canceled,
Now I’m dying in my OWN blood,
Stuck in a body I didn’t ask for.
Drowning.
life right now—
Is a flood.

Seizures are constant,
Pain never ends.

I’ll never escape—

The hell,
My body and brain—

Has,
Trapped me in…

When.
Just. WHEN?

Tough
A poem.
—————

I can’t deal with anyone’s crap.
I got to much blood and boulders,
On my back.

Fighting back the past,
Never been able to relax.

I don’t know if anyone can tell,
—Or if anyone cares,
But I'm about to crack.

they creep up,
Bruises cover much.

Random hallucinations—
Severe pain.

No one's understanding,
—or listening.

My brain is in such a bad headache,
I feel like my insides are blistering.

Fidgeting.
Numbness.
Pain.
Fainting.

Brain making—
Random movements.
All a loss of control.

Appointments got canceled,
“WHY!!!— HOW MANY MORE!?”

When does someone call it-
“Enough!?”
  
I’m NOT….THIS tough.

Hit the breaks, no room for mistakes,
feeling like the world's about to quake.
Caught between the choices I've made,
lost in stormy weather on an abandoned lake.

No directions— no clear route to take,
so many choices — afraid which to make.

Poems DON’T bloom—
They rupture.
They ignite,
Like a fire in your soul,
Waiting to explode,
Like gasoline in a burning room.

Poems
Are those
Who land deeper than the largest crevasse—
Those that leave you glaring,
Wide—unblinking eyes.

Waiting for the next punch
To your heart,
Like music crashing into your body
When you have the volume too loud.

Poems are meant to claw,
To rip,
Open your ribcage,
To smear
Your blood—pain—EVERYTHING
In front of you,
To show you it’s okay
For ALL to exist;
To trick
Your heart
To love,
Hate,
To turn fear
Into fate.

There are supposed to drip blood
In words that were NEVER meant to be said.

Every line,
Something I couldn’t bellow,
So I sharpened
My words like a knife,
Till my words bled
Blood—
I could never give back.

I LIVE for blood,
I LIVE for pain.
I LIVE for the world to not
Care
What it’s left for me,
What the world’s done to let me decay.

Each verse of silence,
Each verse of pain,
Each verse of anger,
Of shame,
Or hate,
Of love,
IS YEARS
OF SWALLOWING
MY OWN BLOOD.

YEARS.
OF HATING MYSELF.
YEARS.
OF NOT TRUSTING ANYONE
Who said…
“I’m here,”
“I’ll listen,”
“I’ll help.”

LET THAT BURN.

YEARS.
OF PAIN.
YEARS.
OF SHAME,
FOR WHAT THEY DID,
FOR HOW THE WORLD
TAUGHT ME WRONG.

You call my poems BRAVE!?
…THEIR SURVIVAL.
THEIR BLOOD.
I WAS NEVER
ABLE TO PUT BACK
IN MY BODY.

Poems are my baggage;
Each weighs—
A ton.

What is a poem?
A POEM?
It’s the moment before you scream,
When you realize you can’t say
What’s digging into your mind.
It’s rhyming stanzas
Disguised as hatred.
It’s love
Dressed as rhythm.
It’s pain
Hidden
As syllables,
Each word—my teeth.

Poems are MEANT
To be messy,
MEANT
To be ugly,
MEANT
TO LIVE—

Even when others
Think they shouldn’t have ever
Lived that long,
When you’re told to leave it in your head.

You want a Poem?
SIT in my blood.
I’LL sit in yours.
I’ll comfort you,
If you do the same.
I’ll be there in your brightness,
And in your darkness,
With the faint glow of the candle
To illuminate
Your shattered
Ship.

Writing is a freedom;
It’s everything
Anyone could need.

A poem doesn’t need to be perfect—
…just…let it be you.

THAT’S what a poem is MEANT
To do.

I tried to follow the map,
It was a trap.
It soon vanished,
I have a clue.

If it’s who I think it is.
They’re coming back soon.  

Each winding turn,
Every breath burned.
Each demon,

The blood,
Visions.
All flooding.
My brain.

Each turn.
A major mistake.
I wish I could fix,
My head.
I can’t even go to bed.

The hallucinations,
Each time.
My brain is tricking me,
I know it’s true.

How long can I last?
Before I collapse?

There after me,
All day,
Every day,
Im never free.

Struggling-
They silence me,
With words.
Claiming Im trouble,
Claiming I’ll never be enough,
Claiming Im not tough enough.

They stole me map,
A bit ago,
Like a had suspected before.
Im losing my way,
The path,
No longer paved.
The road signs,
Lost in mist.
They programmed,
In place.
Like they ceased to exist.

For now— to stay alive,
I obey.
If I don’t,
They’ll surely come back,
Another day,  
To make sure I decay.

This spiral im in,
Each wave that comes,
I just need to wait
For the meds—
To make me numb.