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Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Blood lettings, for my thigh and wrist
My blood like fire, the swiftness of grace
My flesh is above all and yet disowned
My spirit is fierce as fires doth burn
These creatures will learn…
Middle class brats, bred from base corruption
A softness and kind of conformity for their kind
Take, steal, feed, greed and gluttonous ******!
But oh how they craft their own plights
Little *****, to think they know plight!
Arch, I’ll give them plights, oh I shall give them sullen plight
Tortuous, tormenting, agonising, haunting plights
Plights of the daughter brought before the beast
Plights of the family too poor too common
Plights of the body taken against will
Plights for my blood!
Your petty little girl, plain Jane, boring and dull, like a corpse
Bring her to the beast and she’d how she’ll fair?
Ha! She is nothing of the woman I am…
Take that ****** and let him see the horrors of thy household
Many are alike mine in this lower domain
He’d break like glass to the father who raises his fist!
And you, what of you? Boy Solider…
You speak lies snake! Not a killer, but only of truth!
Sexuality all in tatters, heart forsaken by she cheated
Dearest Mother to tend to thee at all hours
You never tasted poverty, never saw the world
The world through my blood
None of you, not she lifeless and dead
Nor he pitiful and weak, and you another Father but in boy form!
I pray you never have daughters, I hope you take a liking for men
Never breed your filthy bloodline
Middle class ****! Judging, gossiping, lying snake!
But in those 7 weeks you took a taste of thy blood, like the wine at the alter
It was burning hot like magma, it was filling and sickening
Sweet, bitter, sour, to it your eyes once so blind
Saw the world a new
You saw the ****, the abuse, the bulling, the carer, the suicide, the mental illness
You saw your fictional demons in mine
The blood upon my hands, twas ours
It rain through us all, like a fire
It burned and scorched us with the hands of reality
And once it was done, only I was left standing
With one foot out the door, into the world reborn
But my old blood still remains upon you boy soldier
And I carry the new
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
The stake they put her to
encased in iron bound
Tightened with hay and perfumed with betrayal
The white lace adorned the flesh
The flesh that tempted him into manhood
Now a martyr he would make of her!
Joan de Arc
In no time did he tender the flames to her pyre
They lapped and licked at her
She wept a while, for her heart was broken
Her mind was broken
That which all she came to be was broken
and sent to burn
Hellfire came and took her
The white lace and blonde locks eaten
No screams, for the tears silenced her
and the creamy palate of flesh was cinders
It faded to ash and fell before their blind eyes
Blinded by their families sake
The boy soldier turned his eyes astray
but it had came to pass
she was right, Her words were true
No fire could burn she!
For she was the fire!, A she wolf, A shield Maiden
You cannot burn that which has lighting in her heart
and fire in her soul!
She arose from the ashes naked and pure
Golden and burning like a solar storm
The boy soldier marveled watched on
From her tortures, her torments
She rose higher above her death, her corpse, her ashes
To a new her!
Smothered in battle scars!
Her eyes a pit of combustion
Her past was cinders, her future was burning
Her crimson lips parted to roar with all the fire of a dragon
I am a woman, a warrior, a soldier! I am the fire!
Her fiery wings spread, the flames embraced her beauty
Her eyes gleamed like sunflare
She was the woman known as Tartarus
The woman all men should fear but desire, Valkyrie
She was the Phoenix rising, rising from the ashes
**Remember the pain, but learn the lesson
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Wanderers a wandering
She cut off her hair
a beauty still pondering
“Who I dare to love me fair? but they love me nair, and I care, I care”
Is all her years, her youth wasted
for all the kisses she could’ve tasted
none are as bittersweet, as the love she can never have
Her worth is always half empty
the glass is smashed, against her carcass
the broken shard, to her wrist
You’ll find broken open bodies
scorched by the empty words
persona, persona, worship her like the holy Madonna
But you have killed her!
White garments adorn her loveless flesh
A beauty to be fed unto saints sufferings
the sacrament was never christ’s body!
Where art love, her love!
Lord grant her a love, give her a love
A beauty wandering, pondering, dying!
These mind takes a cancer of all its own
It is time for the pyre
They build her stake higher
They burn fires
Bound her to the stake
a heart so fit to break
within monsters are to awake
burn her alive or drown her in a lake!
She is silver chained, you possess the spark
she is the sacrifice
The god of fire commands it
The loveless beauty, of wine and bread
will dine in ashes this night
Biblical lilith for his lapping tongues
You light her! She screams!

Arch for my lover doth **** me!
My beauty is scorched, tis ashes!
My eyes now blackened, no more blues
No more beauty for my dearest has tied me to the wickerman
He hath taken the torch to my flesh
He watches on as the flames have my body
The body, the love never good enough for him
Is for the flames, for I am his Joan
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
God, the concept is a highly controversial one. A subject of peace, love, war and bloodshed. A being that cannot be described nor conceived by human thought alone. What is God? It differs from mortal to mortal. Each person is shaped by their many different susceptibility hypothesis. In that their environment of social, religious and external factors would impact on their perception of things in the world. For example a child brought up with little kindness and love grows to be ever angry and insecure. God, is thus the same, if we are brought up with God or Godless or spiritual, in what manner do we view our own personal God? And how do we come to find him, her or them?

I found God, not in my upbringing nor in religion. But, within my sorrow. In my time of need God came to me. Whether through neurosis or supernatural happenings I cannot say. However, I do believe God is not found in the joy or smile of a face, but of the trials and strife we come to face in our lives. Whether through illness, grief, heartbreak, **** or whatever befalls you, you may find God or God may come to you. It is how you perceive it, is what really matters.

I found God truly, not just in fashion or in an elite manner to give myself a self image, but in soul, whilst I broke down. I broke down at university after years of suppressing my many demons. I shall not go into detail, that is rather tiresome. But I can say God gave me strength not through my Welsh nor Jewish blood, but through my willingness to survive.

My ability to carry on as we shall say, has made me see the world in greater vision. With understanding, empathy and of acquiring a more accepting nature. The days of misandry are over, the times of hatred towards religion are gone, and my angry atheist approach gave the wrong impression of my fellow atheists. I was once bitter and cruel, with hatred in God rather than disbelief, and hatred in those who worshipped and believed. I now understand it is to both love and respect the knowledge and belief of others, no matter what difference in the path we may take.

For I, believe we are ALL children of God. He or she or them is too great of a creator to judge us merely by faith alone. But by the pureness of our souls, by our selfless deeds and true intentions are we judged accordingly. A faithful Catholic will be purged if they may abuse the innocent child, a starch atheist may be accepted into God's grace through their charitable works. A heterosexual woman may be sinful for cheating, but a homosexual man may still be far more just and kind to his lover and thus far more virtuous.

God put me through hell, so I may come to understand heaven. As in what mankind may achieve if we work together. May we overcome the evolution of diseases, of global warming, the evils or abuse, ******, **** and war. The injustice of bullying and discrimination. God gave us a mind so complex and yet so flawed, so we may master it to his or her or their grace. Science is one manner of understanding God. Religion answers why, science answers how.

I found God, lying in my bed, a stomach in churning agony. A body battling an overdoes of a bottle of *** and a vast amount of painkillers. In the sweat of torment and nausea, did a white cool mist appear at my feet. It floated with grace and made its way to embrace me. Why you ask or how? How maybe due to my BPD or PTSD.

Why, is because hours before in a state of screams and suicide I shouted to God as I downed my pills and sliced myself up. I called to him or her or them, begging for help and aid. For answers, for questions but above all love. Thus, God came down to show me love. Even when I wanted to die, God made me live.
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Snow white curls, lagoon blue eyes so sullen. How does it feel? To feel too much. Everything is never done nor felt by halves. It is felt as a whole. A sharp twist of the stomach and weakening of the knees. The slow decent to the floor, with black smearing tears cascading with every inch. On the floor wrapped in a ball. Weeping into her own embrace. Every noise a sound of sorrow.

This is what its like to feel so much and too much. Like a bolt of lightning against the bark, splintered to ash. The fire scorches the heart and consumes it, it is dampened by her weeping tears. She has felt this pain before. She was so happy, her smiles so rare worth more than gold. She put effort and work this time as many times before, and it was all in vain. She remembers...

A little girl barely 13 or 14. Waiting. Hair styled, clothes smart. Pocket money in her purse and such tender selfless love in her heart. That was all in vain. He never turned up. He let her down, and he would repeat this offence as if he had no conscience. She remembers her unanswered calls and texts. She remembers.

Now, she sits crying into her tiny arms again. She is that little girl again. She just wanted to make someone happy, she just wanted to love someone. Just as before. Now as then excuses. He spoke of them, to cover his spineless back. Someone else was to blame. As was this time. She remembers the pain. The pain of whatever I do, no matter how much I love it is not good enough...

The past reminds her. The past haunts her. Poor Dove. Such a frail creature, so hurt, so scared, so forlorn, cannot handle such torment. It is a trigger, a trigger upon a gun. Reaching out, the pain is too great! Like gasoline unto the fire, the flames engulf her. The fires of pain. She reaches out, to self destruction. Convert the inner torment to physical. Poor Dove, she will clip her own wings. She will baptise herself, in blood. Bleed the pain away. The fires of torture, of the past will fade with every cut. The deeper the better. Because she only wants to sleep. Peace.

Peace from the hurt, the past, the triggers, from it all. She grips the blade, a tiny left hand trembling against the flesh. Sitting on her bed, heavily breathing. Tears still flowing down her cheeks into the softness of her *****. The red streams dance down the contours and curves of her legs. It runs between her fingers and down her arm. It is warm, it is the hurt too great to take. The fire which burns her. The past which tortures her. She is quick and furious with every strike, it is her own downfall which brings her comfort. It is her own death which will silence the demons of her past. She begs to meet God. She, Little Dove feels too much, tis too much to take.
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
My mother told me once that trying to explain our condition to you, is like trying to force a Lion to eat a carrot. So instead of telling you or talking at you, I am better off writing it instead. Word for word, with greater time and more privacy. At 5:25am I have all the time in world, to explain to you what I see...

The scars and cuts on my flesh, of course it is hardly anything to be proud of, nor anything to show off. But letting the wound breath allows it to heal better. Surely such insane behaviour is just a phase, a cry for attention, a childish antic. Hardly, I’ve been cutting since 2005 and I dare not discuss as the reason as to why. That is too painful. I rather cut than express my inner turmoil as I find myself an adult, who must learn to stand alone, not running to mummy or daddy in times of need. So my cry for attention is flawed. A childish antic, not at all. This self damaging behaviour aids in helping me cope with my swirl of unstable episodes of emotions. The pills can only do so much, and my nurse has a habit of loosing contact. And who I am to discuss such painful and shameful matters to those whom already have too much on their plates, not I. Those in crisis team are too bored and tired to care either.

In any case you’ve heard it all before. I seldom want to hear it either.  The self harming also deters me from more serious damage such as suicide attempts, think about it. These minor cuts are nothing to 36 pain killers and a bottle of ***, trust me I know...I agree with you that I am ashamed of it, I am ashamed of everything, my body, my so called friends, my Father, my Mother’s illness, my sister’s  and brother’s demons, my niece, my ex and Glyn.

To be frank, I am not very confident, I have little friends, hardly go out and a father who hates me. At times I blame myself, and when as now there is no one to talk to, or find solace in at stupid o clock I find a blade. I can hardly run to my mum about the nightmares, flash backs when she herself is ill. As are you all. I want to help you all, but I cannot and there is where I have failed.

So a blade helps calm my vortex of moods, manic, depressive etc. Even when I feel numb, not of this earth, out of place. I need to feel something, anything so I cut. I cut to feel real. It silences the voices and hallucinations. Alas shouting at me before strangers in public is hardly the best thing, you sound familiar to Joe and my Father. Calling me stupid, only makes the pain worse, which only leads to more self destructive behaviour. Doing so before others creates more shame in my distort self image. It will not make it any better, only worse. When someone harms themselves through food, drugs, suicide do they remark them as stupid. No, you try to aid them or aid yourself in coming to terms with it. How do you expect to help me if you treat me as the bullies and abusers once did?

Nellie self harms, this I know. This I understand too. In a life of her horrors can you blame her, at such an age when it comes to the surface again. She thinks herself ugly and fat, you think calling her stupid will make her feel any better? But her self hating behaviour is due to your behaviours of self loathing.  She has learned it from years of being exposed to it, yet the self harm is something she never knew I did! Swear to God. I speak kindly with understanding to her, with all the care to be commanding, to the point but empathise with her plight. To this day she has not repeated self harm. Not due to horrid remarks but due to sympathy and mature understanding.

My mother did not join in with your taunts because she has learned and understood I nor her can always cope. She knows I’d rather punish myself than put more weight upon her weakling shoulders. She maybe a mother, but she is also human. She doesn’t want to hear of all my tortures, it pains her too much and I love her too much to drag her through it as well. I often do not feel good enough for her, which is the most painful issue of all.

I do my best, writing, filling up the pages, drawing and singing, but there is only so much you can do especially at 2am. I do not want to harm myself, but it is the need to. A horrid need of trying to deal with the hurricane of episodes in my head. Its like an atomic bomb, a volcano that wishes to destroy and reek havoc. By calming it by hurting myself to a minor extent, I do not bring harm to others in the forms of sorrow or grief. I do not wish to die, I wish to live, but it is down to whether I feel good enough to. So, before you mock me again, think back to these words and what strength it took to write them. To the point and with great respect for you and my family. It is with great love I also write this for self harm is a difficult concept to understand, especially when your generation was strapped to the mains to zap the insanity out of them. Remember knowledge is power, and here is my knowledge to you.
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
I’m sorry that I breathe, I’m sorry I took the blade
I’m sorry I turned my arm into a ****** shade
I’m sorry I’m his daughter, I’m sorry I’m alive
I’m sorry in that glass box I somehow seemed to thrive
I’m sorry I feel too much, I’m sorry I am so raw
I’m sorry I am a Siebert and that **** is such a gore
I’m sorry I should’ve died, I never should have been
Should’ve ended it all when Daddy left me with him
I tried to be a good girl, I tried to behave
I only wanted health love, that is all I truly crave
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