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 Apr 2014 Damaged
Matthew Walker
While driving home today,
a small boy pretended to shoot
at my van with his toy rifle,
as if I were the bad guy.

Our culture is fighting to strip
our children of violence,
"guns are a danger
and they pervert our sons."

I agree,
we should be purposeful
on how we raise our kids.
Violence is not always
healthy for the young heart.

I disagree,
we should not be dictatorial
on how we raise our kids.
Violence is not always
bad for the young heart.

Taking away guns from a boy
is taking away paints from an artist.
Stripping a son of his warrior-spirit
is stealing the melody of his song.

He was John Wayne
wielding his Winchester,
and I was the bad guy
escaping on a stolen horse.

In his mind,
he was a hero.
Why would you want
to strip him of that?

Teaching him self-control
is absolutely necessary,
but removing his ability to learn
is killing his growth as a person.

Don't be the reason he rebels,
teach him to use his sword.

*m.w.
Not very poetic. Just something I was feeling. 4/22/14
Your worth cannot be measured
by the circumference of your waist
or the width of your delicate hips

And though his lips will plant onto yours
and others may call you revolting
it shall never measure your worth

And when it comes to valentines day
and the only roses you received
were the ones your mother sent you
It cannot measure your worth

Because your worth cannot be measured
you shall repeat it again
your worth will not be measured
by numerals,words, or objects
not ever
your worth cannot be measured
but you are enough, unbelievably enough
you give people flowers
for they create happiness
why don't you offer them you?
 Apr 2014 Damaged
Matthew Walker
I am the greatest liar I know.

Watch as I pretend to
stand for something.

Purity?
Listen as I tell you,
I've never kissed a girl
or even held her hand.
I'm saving everything for my wife,
isn't that grand?

Maybe physically modest I've remained,
but the confines of my mind are rotting.
Witness the perversions unveil
on my search bar as I fail to abstain.

My bathroom is a battleground.
Countertops stained from failed
attempts I longed to call victory,
shower rugs withering from endless moments
on my knees, begging you to forgive me.

Darling, I wish I could
love you as you deserve.
But the depictions flicker
behind my eyelids in every
blinking moment,
and despite the constant
praying, I can't stop preying,
the craving screams my name
through bleeding lungs
and a parched tongue.
I've lost all control.

Demons are clawing their
crooked fingers through the cages
of my heart, of our heart,
and my ribs are cracking
as our romance is shattering.

Love, I'm so sorry.
I have tainted all you were,
my nightmares have mutilated
your innocent perfection.
I am not worthy to hold you
in my arms, even if you're the first,
these stains cannot be erased.
I have left cobwebs in your corners,
they'll never be clean again.
It's my fault,
I am a vicious poison.

I don't know how to change.
I've lost the power to say no,
I don't have a cast for the broken bones,
the bodies are still littered beside
my personal porcelain Hates.
I hate me. You deserve better.
I can't perform an exorcism on myself,
and I can't wipe the webs off the shelf,
I can't even reach the top without help.

I wish I could say I love you.
But love is sacrifice
and the only thing I've
sacrificed is my commitment
while betraying my integrity
and slaughtering the promises
I stole from you.

In this moment of brutal honesty,
I'll admit my inadequacy
but as soon as morning
I'll forget about reality.

Watch as I fight to become
the best failure I don't want to be.

*m.w.
4/11/14
When I say that I want to die,
I don't mean that I want to leave
My friends and family.
I mean I want all the bad parts of myself to be killed.
I'm tired of the nightmares,
The confusion.
The loneliness,
The depression,
The anger...

I want all of it gone.
I can put it away,
I can hold it inside,
I can pretend to be good
And happy
And sane.
But when it comes down to it,
I'm all bad things underneath.
And even though I try to make myself
Good...
The bad things always come right back to the surface,
I can't escape,
And oh my god.
I want to die
I may be a thousand different puzzle pieces,
Trying to smash together.
I may be a little bit of sun,
a little bit of rain,
and a whole lot of stormy weather.
I may be a million broken truths,
a thousand ragged scars,
and have a heart that's black and blue.
But now I have an unchained smile,
A sense of self worth..
All of it thanks to you.
Wake up, bake it.
Give no *****, fake it.
Days spent, nothing.
Nights dreamt, loving.
Kids home, screams start.
MTV, Mario cart.
Big sis, no heart.
Big sis, love art.
Paints herself, always red.
Wishes herself, always dead.
Snapped wrists, knuckles bled.
Voices always fill her head.
Moms home, red eyed.
***** bottle, she always lied.
Names Jeff, *******.
Names Ben, ******* too.
Daddy says, he wants to die.
Comes in my room, starts to cry.
He's been googling, clean suicide.
Asks the same question, who am I?
Brother screams, stamps his feet.
Sisters crazy, no nice and neat.
Go in my room, close the door.
Try not to breathe, lay on the floor.
Try not to cry, punch a door.
Try not to die, try not to soar.
Hand swollen, can't move.
Pack a bowl, for one not two.
Breathe in deep, let it sit
Listen to music, begin to slip.
Drink a bottle, finally faded.
Drop the mask, no masquerading.
Pass out, dreams are waiting.
Pass out, finally escaping.
I used to think,
"Oh I want to be skinny. I want to look like a model."
And then I watched
a childhood friend
deteriorate in front of my eyes
after obsessing over her weight.
She went from this beautiful
young girl
to this hollow,
****** in,
bulimic and anorexic shell.
It's a sad day when you don't recognized someone you've known your whole life
when they walk up to you
in the gas station.
I don't want to be that.
A shell.
So **** being skinny.
**** people who think y
ou need to be thinner.
Just **** society
and
always
be
you.
 Mar 2014 Damaged
xxxx
Six weeks strong
Wounds have healed
Tried to stop an addiction
But became so unhappy
Thoughts became worse
More pessimistic
Demons won't stop pestering
Self hatred grew stronger
Turned to the pain
Knowing that it is just an illusion
Thinking it would help escape
The struggles of life
Relapsed; 6 weeks being clean went down the drain.
Not the best poem I have ever written but I just had to let it out.

/drdc/
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