these scenarios are stuck on loop in my head
my palm full of pills,
& The Orange Bottle of Liberation, now empty
as I fall asleep
The squealing of tires on tar as glass shatters
& I become one with the street

so many ways to stop being
what do you mean these thoughts aren't normal?
this is all my brain plays

on loop, on loop, on loop

every body
is addicted to something
& this body
seems to love
sadness
darkness
& pain -
this mind
unearths emotions
that cause
quite the commotion
to encourage a reaction
so intense
just to distract
from the silence

It was by intense calculation
and silent determination
that I planned to exit in peace.
Suicide could not be an accident
or result from lack of judgement;
spontaneous disasters never bring relief.
I searched and pondered a different strategy
each & every day.
You can't say I wasn't dedicated.
I was set on finding a miracle to end me - my way.
It seemed obvious & much too simple
to sleep my way to death,
but the glaring orange bottle enchanted me into captivity
& slowly stopped my breath.
People might talk about how I left & talk they may.
Their words mean nothing when all they had were excuses
to avoid seeing both me
and my pain.

And on the final day,
I watched the flames
lick up my words.

I set them all ablaze;
none of them
made you
stay.

I remind myself each morning that you're a want - not a need.

And each night I wander off to the stars with the realization that

I am everything without you

Oh darling, learn to thank the rain.
Let it crash, soak, and pour.
Don't ask it to go away; don't beg it to be tame.
For it is through the storms that you learn:
We need the water to bloom and be more.

When you leave me and walk away,
my heart will cry, but I’ll still be the same.
No matter how hurtful the things you say,
my worth’s still intact; it will always remain.
My love, without you life might be gray,
however I am tired of playing this game.
You can push and pull - try as you may,
but I won’t allow you to cause me more pain.
Now, my darling, it's my move - my play,
so I'm going all in, no longer tame.
I'm choosing myself unapologetically this day.
I will venture on forward; forgetting your name.
When you realize what’s happened, you’ll beg me to stay.
You'll try to tell me it's a loss, but I can only see gain.

If in order to exist, it must be written
then at dawn when I wake, I'll reach for my pen.

I'll write of light, sunrises, love, and beauty.
My pages will overflow with all things good.
I'll write of adventure & kindness, of laughter & healing.
My steps will scream confidence, though I've stumbled each time I stood.

If in order to exist, it must be written
then I will never ceases writing, until I reach the end.

The sun will rise each morning
In this I have no doubt
My fear is not that the dawn won't come, only that when it does, I won't be watching & that's a miracle I can't afford to be left without.

This fear is what drives me each morning
To move, to smile, to ask:
If my feet don't hit the floor and start running towards that miracle, do I even deserve the sunrise, or should I just turn my back?

The darkness begs to linger each morning
I used to think it demanded
But that makes it sound like I don't have the power, that the emotions run my show and I can't decide to end their dances.

And that's not true, I'm reminded each morning
I have the ability to choose
So now when I wake up feeling heavy I'm not as distraught as before since the belief that I am weak is my old story and I won't let it define me - I refuse.

The clear blue sky seems to stretch endlessly
Peace; all is calm
Countless blessings have been received
My heart is full
Gradually the dark clouds press down
The storm arrives
Memories of joy and comfort feel worlds away now
An unreachable light
Guilt consumes me for feeling weak and wanting to give up
Have I not been blessed?
Chaos consumes me and I am unable to stand for another moment
I fall to my knees
My cries - I assume - cannot be heard over the raging torrent
He hears me
The turmoil does not cease, but He has come to my aid once again
My strength is renewed
With restored hope and an invincible support bearing me up
I face the wind; resilient
The times I fall give meaning to each opportunity I have to rise
I am determined
Heavy clouds begin to disperse and the thunder is now a distant murmur
Calm is on the horizon
The gloom is disrupted by light piercing through the cloud’s heavy cover
A decision is to be made
Does the contrasting light give me the power to press forward?
I fear it does not
For my gaze is still fixed upon the churning storm
What little faith I have!
The storm is never going to pass, though it may rest for a season
My heart aches
I yearn for the blue skies to encompass me again
The desire to quit is unbearable
Tender mercies are sent to help me realign my will to His
My perspective shifts
As I allow myself to open my heart and lean on my Savior, I will be taught
His ways are higher
Frustration will consume me if I am not cautious and willing to listen
The Spirit is my constant companion
When the nights drag on and the merciless storm rages unceasingly, I will wait
Those piercing beams will return
Until the light breaks through though, I will look to my Savior as He lifts me
I do not know where we will go
But as long as I let God guide us, I know that our destination is Home
My trust is in Him

Through the heavy darkness
My feet are guided; I am led.
To a certain calmness
I will arrive - it has been said.

My purpose is lost, I’m torn apart.
The Savior steps in to calm my troubled heart.

He is constant. He is kind.
My faith will be used to pacify this torrential sea.
Although I may fear that I’m falling behind
His grace is sufficient and He has carried me.

I have struggled so much, He has helped me every time before.
I must be a burden, I can’t do this anymore!

The destroyer yearns to attack my foundation.
Hopelessness consumes me, so I look to the sky.
Among the blackness live bright constellations.
He has said He loves me and He can tell no lie.

With mind still heavy, but heart so full
He needs me on His side; I feel the pull.

“I cannot do this alone!” I cry.
He reminds me that I am loved; “My child, I am here.”
The angels have been sent to Earth, my tears to dry.
I am humbled and realize I have not been forgotten this year.

Friends encircle their arms about me with love.
It’s always been familiar, and now I know it’s from above.

The Savior embraced me before I came to Earth.
My mortal company are angels sent to care for me.
In this life I struggle to remember my worth.
So when I am embraced by friends, I remember that it is what He did before He set me free.

Today I woke up broken
I hung my head and cried to God
because I know He sees beyond this fog.

The calm, the peace - it doesn't sink in until after these words take root in my heart:

Broken is not always a bad thing. Broken is just the stage between better and best.

Through broken soil plants grow to sustain this world.
Broken allows life to grow.
A break in the clouds sends light to those who miss the sun.
Broken allows room for more.

I let this small prayer carry me always:
That I will remember
that it is a beautiful thing
when life goes
Better
Broken
Best

The blessings in my life
are overwhelming
when I really think about them,
but for some reason
each morning
feels heavier than the one before.

Why can't I just be happy?

My heart wanders
away with this thought
until the relentless waves
of pain and heavy sadness
carry it back to its place.

I cry -
not because I am lacking anything,
but because I cannot count
all of my lucky stars
(for they are far too numerous),
and yet,
I am still not happy.

As I am in that state of sleepy in-between-ness late at night,
I always reflect on the day’s shortcomings and negativity
whether or not I fight off those default thoughts to find light.

My mind wanders through all the events and interactions
that seem to be tainted with heavy blue;
every day carries a shadow that I that I try to get rid of
because that darkness is something I don’t want to live through.

The monster that some people have named 'anxiety'
clutches around my lungs and heart.
It chokes me, shakes me, screams with hate:
"What the hell is wrong with you!?”
It’s a disease with the goal to tear me apart.

My wish is to rip these blue lenses from my eyes
to clearly see this life for what it really is:
a miracle, a gift, a priceless thing to be treasured -
but these blue lenses have been a part of me for months
And with them, the world is a familiar sight.

But it is not in my disposition to love or appreciate
anything that is associated with myself.
And thus I find myself stuck in this viciousness
of half-conscious loathing and self-deprecation.

I've felt many different types of pain, but the most intense has been the pain of healing, and unfortunately that specific type of pain can only be felt when you are very much awake to absorb the whole of it.

What a beauty this life might be if we learned to listen in order to understand instead of listening just to reply and regain focus of the spotlight.

If I asked you to close your eyes and picture everyone you loved, how long would it take for you to spot yourself?

I've not been able to find myself yet.

Can you even imagine how powerful I'd be if I loved myself even half as much as I wish you loved me?

Eyes
reflect love and laughter, create a window for the world to view a beautiful soul, perceive so much light, see the vivid brightness of everything around
          but what I choose to focus on is how they barely function without corrective lenses, the color of the iris is too bland, and they allow too many tears to fall.

Hands
sweep away tears softly, give love the opportunity to be tangible, rest upon a friend's back to support, sweep across the ivory to make emotions audible
          but what I choose to focus on is how they shake when in social situations, the lack of length in the fingers, and the obvious absence of another hand to hold.

Legs
support my whole structure, provide transportation for adventures, serve as a resting place for his weary head, function each day without conscious effort
          but what I choose to focus on is how angry red stretch marks line the skin, the way my fat calves get stuck in jeans, when they fail to endure the miles to run.

A Spring soul glows and knows firmly its purpose
Since it is anchored in the knowledge that its light is contagious,
the soul floats, free of burdens to weigh it down
A Spring soul soars and ignores any harmful resistance,
escaping the ill-tempered storm by learning to find refuge in the hearts of those
who need its warm and comforting temperament

A Summer soul radiates its emotions with an energetic power
The spark that accompanies this soul tells a riveting tale
of adventurous elegance but does not use words
A Summer soul captures the playful prestige of the sun
with glinting eyes that invite all those who gaze upon it
to experience the blazing emotions with which it surrounds itself

An Autumn soul wavers from shrill heights to profound depths
It is guided by the wind on which it rides, wondering if it is actually travelling
or if it is always falling straight down
An Autumn soul convinces those who may think themselves strangers
to become significant and familiar through the common goal they each carry
to find shelter from the inevitable chill

A Winter soul emanates an ethereal beauty, the frigid ice being capable
of so much more disaster and destruction than it would appear
upon fleeting inspection of the sparkling expanse.
A Winter soul intrigues any passerby to look beyond first glance -
the apparent wasteland of snow and ice - into the depths where it has found
that it only desires to find another whose demons will dance well with theirs.

They say everything happens for a reason
to deny that would be against the very soul;
an act of high treason
Beautiful People do not just appear
we understand the purpose of burdens
being so heavy and near
affliction will come and go,
even though timing can sometimes be unclear
it is important to remember that adversity lingers
to strengthen us throughout each and every season

This heart can only be rejected and burned so many times and still allow itself to open - this heart is not as strong as some might think. Hearts don't handle stress or pain, they just build walls so that people have a difficult time getting in.

This heart might believe that whoever is patient enough to find a way around the walls will treat it well upon arrival since it took so much time and strategy, but the heart has mistaken perseverance for stubbornness.

This heart might suppose that whoever is brave enough to scale the walls will be willing to serve as a protector since it is not courageous enough to face the darkness itself, but the heart has mistaken valor for recklessness.

This heart might hope that whoever is strong enough to break through the walls will be able to fight the tumultuous war raging within so that it may obtain some rest, but the heart has mistaken fortitude for belligerence.

This heart must build walls in part, of course, to keep careless strangers from strolling in and wreaking havoc, but most importantly to protect others from itself by trapping the whispers and shadows inside the walls. While it will always dream of The One who will conquer the walls and stay to provide light and warmth, it has decided that the world would hurt less if people stopped trying to love the broken hearts such as itself.

Another Saturday evening that I wish I could leave my house and spend time around others
who have crafted intricate masks to hide their hurting, but my mask is crumbling
because it has been worn too much lately, so tonight will be spent
curled up in bed.

I can't escape the storm of thoughts and emotions and desires
and expectations and memories and songs and nightmares and
E V E R Y T H I N G
swirling through my head.

The pain swells in my chest, bubbling up but unable to break out
because these demons refuse to let me assign words to them as I try to cry out for help -
so I stop trying and I lie down to let the burden rest on my heart,
heavy like lead.

My attempts to break out of this funk are futile
(this monster knows me worlds better than those who wish good upon me)
and the harder I chase after hope the more
I am filled with dread.

Sometimes it feels like I've gathered together the shreds of my existence
and made great progress in patching together the pieces with the meager tools I've found,
but my tools are coarse and jagged; they leave behind a
blossoming trail of red.

While I labor so diligently to create beauty wherever I wander,
the shadows laugh at my sorry attempts of pursuing happiness when they know full well
that in order to demolish my collection of mismatched tatters all they must do is
keep pulling at the thread.

All I desire is to reach out and connect with others who are more experienced than I
in travelling the road of misery, but have learned to look up and focus on the bright beams of light that break through the clouds instead of letting the rocky path
rip them to shreds.

One time I found another that was hurting deeply, just like me. I wanted to know how he sang of light and peace while at the same time housing those demons within his soul. I tried to learn by befriending him, but my presence was too much. This isn't just my mind playing tricks on me.
I am clingy; it's what he said.

Some people will often list the smell of rain among their favorite smells,
but to me it is an awful stench; a reminder of that hellish night.

Some people are made giddy as they watch the dark clouds gather and anticipate the droplets,
but the air of excitement is something I dread; it suffocates me.

Some people watch the cars zoom by and admire that sound of the wet pavement hissing in response, but this noise is associated with a memory that holds me captive; it is a prison to me.

Some people find the smells and sounds of rainfall to be soothing, but I feel as if the world is mourning with me when it rains; a storm played in the background the night my life was shattered.

Some people marvel at the beauty of lights reflected in water, but I cannot admire these things for fear that I might get stuck in my head; my mind might think we're back living that night again.

Some people used to include myself; no longer, but there is not a day that goes by without a prayer that I might one day return to the world's collection of some people.