"at least you aren't gonna body slam me
i'd die if you body slam me"
WHAAAT

How do I write a poem about the fact that in my childhood bedroom I had about 10 glow-in-the-dark stars blue-tacked to my ceiling, and that I could touch them if I stood on my bed on my tippy toes, and now, in my 3rd year of university, in the the house I rent with my friends, I have ridiculously high ceilings and a projector that shows me a galaxy?

How do I describe the feeling of staring into the bathroom mirror at my 20 year old reflection and seeing the ghost of my younger self looking back at me from behind my bloodshot eyes? We both stand there at two thirty in the morning with tears running down our cheeks, our hands angrily ****** in our hair and our stomachs ****** in to the point of pain. I can't tell her that it'll stop, because it hasn't.

The dreams she had slip further and further away from me. I can't reach the stars anymore.

i’m wounded. I can’t tell where or how bad it is but there’s blood and, a lot of it. i think this is called shock. there’s no way this is real. there’s no way you’re holding the knife. there’s no way i’m still finding comfort in your sick and twisted smile. those hands were just on my thighs. those hands just engulfed my entire being, and then ripped a piece of me to take with. In all reality, i  didn’t know i had anything left to give. With you i go. No questions asked. You could (and have) led me through hell, i had no idea that it’d be up to me and me alone,  to lead us both back. (i wouldn’t change a thing) where did you go? i can still feel your lips on my skin. a nightmare that i never want to stop, i don’t even know when it began. We were euphoric. Too good to be true. i gave you all i had left. I’m sorry. I’ll take it back. I’m not your burden to hold.  F*, i I never thought you’d decide i was too much for you.

do you know the weight of it?
clawing your way up
test after test,
year after year,
to be the perfect reflection of the dreams they have for you,
those that are now your own.
where your worth now hangs.

when they see the prize,
they say, 'oh it comes so easily to her'

Easily?

i bled for this.
i screamt for this.
and my mind?
it whispers
'this is just what you're supposed to do'
you are 'gifted'
its your mere responsibility.
nothing to celebrate. nothing special.

isnt it?

Monday, 3rd February, 2025                                                       Entry 4
Pain

Pain it's sticks with you your whole life
It floods your mind,

It's sickening.

You feel it in your gut,
you try to scream out,
But as usual,
Not a sound.

“Is there something wrong with me,
Can I speak my mind?”

“Am I really just a misunderstood child?”

My limbs are tried
My eyes droop.

Pain,
The pain that haunts me,
You will be with me forever.

Sincerely,
                  W.W

Step 1: Get out of bed
Step 2: Look in the mirror
Step 3: Practice your smile
Step 4: Eyedrops to hide the red eyes
Step 5: Conceal the dark circles
Step 6: Breathe
The curtains are almost up
Step 7: Lock down the pain
Step 8: Ignore the weight on your chest
Step 9: Silence the screams inside of your mind
Step 10: Choke down the sobs
Step 11: Ignore the stinging in your eyes
Step 12: Swallow past the tightness in your throat
You’ve put on this show a million times
Step 13: Don’t let them see
Times up. Curtains up. Camera rolling

Came back
Survived the ride
Plunged into dark
Saw the light

I'm back!!!
I will now be posting
Regularly
I missed you all

Dear seven year old,
Yes, there is a monster
But it’s not under your bed

The monster is in your head
But maybe it’s not even a monster
Maybe it’s just buried pain
Because they told you not to cry

Dear seven year old,
Yes, you should keep crying
Otherwise the tears will build up and flood your insides

The tears do not care for being stuck
They need to be released
Into the stars

Dear seven year old,
Yes, your plea for better times are being heard by the stars
They always will
Keep wishing on them

Wish on 11:11 too
Because to wish is to know what you want
And knowing what you want
Telling it
Makes it so much more likely to happen

Dear seven year old,
Yes, you still feel like the kid sitting under the slide and just observing life
And you’ve come to appreciate it

Observing, looking, watching
Make all the difference
Almost as much as writing

Dear seven year old,
Write.