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courtney Oct 2014
Raw
Tiptoe.
       Very slow.
                Shoulders slumped.
                            Head low.
                                      An awful resemblance
                                                   to the surroundings;
                                      Tired, beaten, voiceless walls
                           doors slammed shut,
                A forced close
        To my emotions -
                       Supressed
                                Depressed.
            ­                              I'm stressed.
                                                  I'm tired -
                                                         I'm a mess.*
                                                          ­                                           Sorry.
courtney Oct 2014
The worst part is that when I
walk in the door, I'm slapped in the face by
two radiant smiles
that deny
we just screamed at each other.
Or did we?
Maybe you just blocked it out and I
choked -
Screaming in my sleep
to stop the road from escaping
my feet
and leaving me panting from
either crying for hours or
running for miles.
I guess that doesn't matter now because
I can't feel any of it, not
the boiling hot tears that
sting my eyes or
their salt that attempts to exfoliate
my dry, raw skin;
Colourless, now, because sunlight gives
life and I've taken that away -
I can't stand another bright,
happy face as I sit here
drowning
in whatever takes my fancy.
And the rollercoaster enters a deep descent...
courtney Oct 2014
"And who are we to judge the broken?" She screams.
Tearing at her skin, laced with seams
she sowed to show she could heal.
"We don't help them: we condemn,
because we can't understand we hold the key to a
lock thrown downstream:
An effort abandoned when the price
peaked at an inconvenience to our dreams."
She sinks to the floor, unable to hold herself
because for too long no one held her.
Her patchwork arms
reveal the scars; as she kept count
of the let-downs and put-downs.
"But I can't save anyone."
She falls to the floor, met by arms that catch her
just as she breaks
and succumbs to the aches
that keep her awake at night -
shaking
as she reaches
for something sharp
once more.
Be there for someone - though it's inconvenient
courtney Oct 2014
My thoughts are like a conversation -
a dialogue between two worlds trying to
understand one another.

(C) 12/10/14
I'm a little crazy.
courtney Oct 2014
The clock ticks, steady - like a heartbeat that
he's not using.
Replaced by a silence that
steals his consciousness, for a moment,
then forever.
The weight doesn't lift, heavy - like a force that
keeps us all down.
Trapped in a sea of smiles and
memories that will always remain
in the past -
no future to mark new moments we
couldn't remember anyway:
We're not drowning in memories,
we're sinking in our sorrows,
oppressed by the knowing that he's not here
anymore.
If only we could turn the clock back:
revive a nerve and create
a few more heartbeats to share -
because we're forgetting
how to breathe, too.
Our fears replaced by tears and
thoughts subsiding our feelings because
we can't feel anything but the pain of his absence
that quickens that the mention
of his name.
Rest in peace.
courtney Oct 2014
She's lying down on an old bench in the corner of the yard.
One arm nursing her head, the other fending off the rays of sunlight sliced by the leaves of the tree above.
Her eyes wander, to the old wood of the bench beneath her, frail and rough, somehow supporting her weight. She rests a book beneath her head to add comfort to the skinny planks that hardly do for a pillow.
She rolls over, adjusting the book she began reading but lost concentration on; the cool blue sky above seeming to be far more interesting, next to patches of shadowy-green interlaced with bright sun. Contrasting colours surrounded by a cloudless background, moved by an occasional breeze that rattles the leaves and compels the sky to sing.  
She closes her eyes, reflections of orange-red appearing inside her eyelids; their width barely blocking the summer sunlight, instead allowing it's rays to reach through, singing and dancing and living harmoniously beside her, wrapped around her, easing her into it's peaceful, free lifestyle.
She soon falls asleep, content, protected.
courtney Sep 2014
It's okay that things are going wrong now. They'll be good again. And It's not that I'm not hurting, I just know that it won't last forever -
Even though each one feels significantly longer and I worry it will be the one that stays and eats away at my soul -
I've stopped lying to myself about the aches:
It's there.
I won't deny it.
But it has it's time, it's temporary.
Healing is a process, a journey.
I won't let this keep me down;
I choose to love myself.
Just trying to learn from my mistakes I guess. I like to write resolutions; promises that I will let myself heal and not hold on to hurt. It helps.
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