I cannot do this any longer. I have tried for so long on my own and found nothing. I finally sought out help after years of secrecy and lies and pretence but still nothing. There is nothing any one can ever do for me because there is nothing left of me and nothing left for me. Who I am or was supposed to be was stolen. They took it. Though the memories were repressed, I always knew there was something different about me. I felt no struggle to fit in with the crowd or have a huge friendship circle. I got on with everyone. I have had insecurities but that is all. As I got older I realised I like being different. I am much happier and I can express myself better. I hate conforming so I never did. I always found a way around it. But long before the insecurities I knew there was something else in me that made me hate who I was. Or rather, hate my life. I guess I have been feeling like this for much longer than I thought. The self-loathing did not occur when I was in high school. Much earlier in fact. Right around the time I was eight years old perhaps. When I told my best friend ‘I hate my life’ and ‘I have a horrible life’. What I did not realise was that it was something other than emotional abuse. Emotional abuse played more of a role in later years but the original cause was something a lot darker. I physically feel sick when I think of this happening to others let alone myself, especially to a child. They prey on you. Take advantage then leave you. Little do they know they have pushed you onto a dark, twisted, thorny path that leads to destruction. Your own mind goes against you. Your own body goes against you. I was not equipped for this battle. I have nothing to armour me. No weapons. No shield. So it is time for me to surrender. I don’t want to be afraid. Rather than continuing forth with this meaningless existence, it is much better if I end it now.




© maria.who

Perched quietly on the dark oak wood
Gleaming, so bright. So .. beautiful?
Waiting
Waiting
No. I mustn't. Fight it.
Withhold the temptation.
Breathe.
Don't let go.
Stop it from screaming.
Please.
Stop it from staring.
Come now, just hold me tightly.
Keep me close and don't let go.
Just a touch, just this once
Stay with me
A scratch on the surface
Not too deep
Again and again and again.


© maria.who

This is me
I'm that girl staring back
It's a distortion.
A figment of my imagination.
No, this isn't me.
But it's real and it exists.
How could it possibly be fabricated?
It isn't fictitious. It's genuine.

A smile so infectious
A blank expression
Body present
Eyes vacant
Life absent
The mind it screams

Poison
Innocence
Addiction
Guilt
Freedom
This is madness
This is me.


© maria.who

(Comment below please)

Cant you hear their cries
Of pain. Of suffering.
The echoes of malicious crimes.
Or have we become unaffected by the images
As history repeats itself one more time

Some where down the line
Humanity has been lost
As ignorance prevails, and their conscious dies
Who is left to preserve and protect innocent lives

As we sit watching the events unfolding
And the tears of both young and old
Like the missiles, do they fall

Have the oppressors forgotten, it was these people
who gave them shelter when they were the oppressed
United we were then to end the brutality and maltreatment
Now the tables have turned
We ignorantly refuse to believe it is happening again

For the innocents the fight continues
Their faith and their strength. It never falters
As they take back what is theirs.
Hoping that someone helps and intervenes
Giving back what's theirs, bringing them peace

The fear and dread
The weeping souls
The blessed land
Forgotten and torn

They fight the battle
as we look on
The hourly struggle
of the abandoned ones.


© maria.who

(Comment below please)