11.22.18 - 2.22.19

This week marks
three months gone
of thousands of months
I plan to live

The day I gave myself
to the comfort of my True Father
instead of to the discomfort
Of a Blade.

I now ignore that sense of lust
for the sight of my own blood
the addiction I found
in spreading lies across my arms

I've given up the sense of calm
I found in watching my skin heal again
Reminding me that I was utterly human
yet somehow invincible

Except I wasn't...

Every time I glided a tool across my arms
or my thighs
or my stomach

I was shoveling myself
into a deeper hole
And while I was at the bottom
Someone was at the top
Filling it in,
not knowing that someone...
That I was inside of it.

As I cried tears of hurt
With the person who cared,
Someone handed me down a ladder.

But I had to choose to climb out
I had to decide if I wanted to stay in darkness
Or release myself to the light...
not the bad light that you see as you die
but the good light you see when you discover
that you are noticed and you are loved

Because isn't that why this whole thing started
Because I felt invisible
Because I was not just one of many
but I was the last of many

Self harm is a trap
That wraps you up in the cold
But you never get fully warmed
Because you're always losing blood.

I'm three months separated
From the act of self-hatred
But I'm always just three steps away
From being right there again.

Strength. Determination. Love. Self Love.
Those are the things that keep me in check.
Mother, Brothers, Friends, Students
Those are the people that keep me safe
And warm... the real warm
Not the fake warm that comes from being wrapped up
In a nice thick blanket.
But the real warm
That could make your heart swell
Even when you're alone.

Draw them with lines
Color them in
Listen to a story
Or write your own

Like individual squares
Of fabrics
Experiences come together
to create a masterpiece

one whole.

My quilt is incomplete
Memories file in
Few
and Far between.

Patches missing
from lines of patterns
Waiting for me
To sew them on

These patches come slow
But like thieves in the night
Candor uncensored
Pain disregarded

Broken frame
And baby bottle
a frantic cry
before a tottle

Flashes of memories
Pass like headlights
across blinds seeping in
But only in pieces

Fleeting
Yet strangely hanging in the air
My own life
Like a mystery novel

I wish someone could solve me
For myself
It's my job alone though
I just don't have the right tools yet.

How do we leave a legacy?

At what age do we begin to create our destiny?

Do we start creating it the day we take our first breaths

or does is bloom over time, like a strong flower

overcoming a harsh winter?

Is legacy made by one man alone?

Or is it made by those of many who rally around each other?

Should we diverge from our paths to implement victory for others?

Or do we walk a singular path, making sure we are safe?

God may have the thorough and true plan masked,

But if you look close, each piece of truth

comes together like a puzzle.

We can't choose fate,

but we can choose our legacy!

I am not human

I am a doll

On one side of a coin
I was loved
By my owner

On the flip side
I was cut open
Like an experiment

Instead of being fixed
By having new fluff put in
And sewn back up kindly

I was left exposed
For years on end
With cold scalpels and loose change
Inserted into my stomach and legs

Out of the corner of my eye
I watched my owner
As he laughed

Enjoying the pain
He so maliciously inflicted

Once you're cut open
You're never perfectly whole again
You're buttons are always slightly off
Your stitched skin always has gaps

I am a human

I am not a doll

I have the choice to change my destiny
But I only have so much power

Such a scarred psyche
Paralyzes my steps
Of rehabilitation

For years, I've taken my own needle
Stitching myself from side to side
Without bactine to ward off infection
Without anesthetic to numb the pain

When people let you down
You begin to rely on yourself
for everything you shouldn't have to

I'm tired

So I've given the needle to someone else

To you who have been given a needle

Kindly stitch me together again

It was one thing
To see the back of your head
When I was toddling around
As a wee young tike
Because my little legs couldn't keep up  

But now I'm older
And I still watch the back of your head
Because you don't care to talk to me
You're a man on a mission
And I'm quiet enough
I'm certain you would almost forget I existed
Despite the fact that I'm your own daughter

How long would it take you
To notice I was gone,
if I tripped and fell
But couldn't cry out
Would you look back,
Or would you carry on?

I've learned to hate the back of your head
With that tuft of hair leading
To the bald spot in the center
Leading the way
Like a man should

But a man
Is supposed to protect his little girl
And care to know she's okay.
But you don't,
So I walk behind silently...

As I walk down a dim light path
Street lights shine on me
As if I'm the main star
In some slap stick comedy
about my own life.

The streets are filled with laughter
But is it laughter?
Perhaps I'm crazy...
Perhaps it's just the crickets
Chanting their song
As I pass by with a solemn step

I hear the drum roll of anticipation
As if the world were just waiting
For my next misstep
But then again
It could just be a skateboard
Rolling underneath an adolescent
Whose mind could not comprehend mine

Gravel crunches under my feet
Like the sound of someone
Taking an icepick to my skull
Trying to scrape out the inside
Of my fractured yet insightful mind.

But as I walk around in the dark
Hoping not to trip on an unexpected twig
I contemplate the rationale
Of my self absorbed thoughts

Because why in the world
Would nature care about me
And why would the lights of a street
Want to shine a light on my life

Unless it was to cast a shadow...

Sometimes it's hard
to find comfort in physicality
when the idea of physicality
has been abused since you were young

you're wrapped in the arms
of the person you love
but you feel like you still
don't exist in the same world as everyone else

it's okay, just act normal
you tell yourself
so he doesn't think you have
too many problems.

when you've been silent
for so many years
you forget that you're allowed
to speak up for yourself.

When you find your voice
you'll release a hold over your body

The hold that won't allow you
to fall into the arms of your significant other
with full abandon of fear
But until that day occurs

Keep trying...
Be honest...
and most importantly
live and love as openly as you can.