It feels like they carved up my insides with one of those stupid pumpkin scoops,
And cut me into what they think I should be
They stick an LED light in
To keep me bright and to cover the empty they left
To hide my mutilated insides
So they don't have to face up to what they've done
I'm a Jack-o-lantern of modern society
With a permanent smile
And dead eyes
With raw shredded guts
And the knowledge I'm not whole.
Sometimes at night I feel like I'm drowning.
The darkness that seeps into my body
Is comforting but cold
And it wraps around my lungs
In a empty imatation of a blanket
That makes getting out of bed in the mornings that much harder.
The inky black of the night holds my lungs captive
In a smoky cage as it urges me forward
And makes existing in the land of the living painful.
It becomes normal, the writhing mass of midnight
But the minute I relax into its hold
It squeezed the breath from my lungs
And the cycle starts again.
My fingers itch
My mind hurts
My heart is heavy.
I write poems to
And so others can understand
My bed is messy
My floor is littered
With clothes I never pick up
My walls have art
Taped on them
I hate them when theyre bare.
I feel like I am bare
Stripped of everything that made me me
And left a shredded shell.
I can't breathe
I can't think
I can't live.
She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot
She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before
She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play
She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain
She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should
She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill
But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave
Edit: (3/10/17) Oh my goodness! I haven't logged on in a couple of days and boy did I miss a lot!
I am doing my best to respond to all your messages and comments now! Sorry for the wait!
Thank you all so much for such an overwhelming amount of love and support <3 You guys are amazing
For those of you who struggle with addiction of any kind, hang in there, and I hope you all find the help and support you need <3
Best wishes to you all. And thank you again <3
Alrighty, so I just got a very long message that without going too into details accused me of poking fun at alcoholism with this poem. I would just like to be very clear that this poem was in no way inteaded to make fun of the illness that is alcoholism, and if it came off that way to anyone else, I am truely truely sorry. Words can not express that enough for I very much wished the opposite intent. Alcoholism (and addiction in general) is a very serious illness that I take very seriously. I sinceraly hope that anyone who is struggling with it gets the help they need and those of you who are in recovery, I am proud of you. Stay strong and continue to work towards it <3
Once again, my sincere apologies again to anyone who was offended.
Love to you all <3 - Willow-Anne
Q: How do I enter death year?
A: Die on your laptop
Forward is a difficult direction to move towards.
Walking away from him is moving forward
But staying with him is moving backward
And ten steps towards the bottle is moving backward
And ten steps away from the bottle is moving forward.
So how do you know what way to point your compass when the direction you're told to go in is completely arbitrary?
When I was younger moving forward meant success.
Getting A’s and B’s and staying out of trouble.
But as I grew up the little details that used to be irrelevant started twisting the path and what was once a straight shot is now a complicated maze of dead ends and trolls under bridges.
Moving forward was put on hold when puberty set in and the idea of body image made me obsessed with every mark and shape of my skin. When boys were no longer gross but objects of affection. When friends became more than friends and best friends was synonymous with jealousy.
Moving forward became more fuzzy when a new substance was introduced to me that made walking in a straight line more difficult than usual but when it got dark I wasn’t so scared of what lay on either side of me.
Moving forward became more interesting when you could inhale giggles and laziness or melt rainbows and dreams onto your tongue.
Moving forward was stopped completely the second time my best friend was ***** and I had to leave my path to hold her hand as she tried to move forward on her own.
Moving forward slowed once I made it back to my own road but checked behind my shoulder every few seconds because I now understood that there are really ****** people in this world.
Moving forward complicated itself when love became the ultimate distraction.
When I stopped mid journey to take the scenic route in another human being and thought I was still moving forward but actually was getting hopelessly lost.
Then he left me in the thickest part of the forest and I started to move backwards to retrace sunken steps in a ground I was too naïve to realize was muddy the first time I had walked it.
And I have to come to the realization that moving on and moving forwards are not the same thing because my feet can place themselves one in front of the other all day long but it does not mean that my heart drags far behind in a state of helpless nostalgia that moving due north will not solve.
Soon enough distractions no longer sway me from my path.
My surroundings are a blur because everything that makes me full of light I have already passed and I am told over and over again to keep moving forward.
So I will no longer stray.
I will keep my eyes on the horizon and hope the soles of my shoes along with my spirit do not wear down before I arrive at my destination.
I have no idea of where I am going but maybe if I keep moving in the direction that is “forward” I will get there
And maybe one day arrive somewhere that makes me feel whole again.
kind of a slam poem i think. more evocative when spoken but thought i would share.
but now i can eat kraft dinner late on a sunday afternoon with my window open and feel the sunlight now i can turn off my phone without panicking and now now I can breathe without fear coating my lungs and my eyes stop resting on sharp objects and now it's been something like two years and something has changed and the things that used to make me feel something like passion have resurfaced and i realize they never went away i just had forgotten how to feel them and god if i've learned anything at all it's that nothing is ever over and right at the moment where you feel like the world's ****** good and proper and there's no getting off your back is the moment when you realize that you are not made of glass you are not fragile and broken you are ******* marble and concrete you are iron that you have built yourself into and god i wish i could say that's it but you will have to fight you will get your hands ***** as you tear out the parts you need to leave behind but you will plant new roots one day you will look at yourself or someone you love and you will know where you've been and what you have come from and nothing will feel as good as when you realize that you are here
you made it
i've never written slam poetry before but this came out of me at full force one afternoon