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I know the horror
how you can't undress
without feeling like
a ******* mess.

There's got to be something
more than this,
just write until
your thoughts aren't as heavy.

Everyone glances
but nobody reads:
Pour your emotions
into a glass that
nobody drinks.

There's got to be something
more than
vulnerable words in vain:
a medicine
that increases the pain.

I know the horror
how you can't reveal
the fullest extent
of how you feel.

There has to be something
more than a glance,
to help you feel heard;
to validate your world.

Just learn to write
and let it all go,
even if nobody notices
or nobody knows.

Because there is something
more than this.
Today I poured away my favourite beer
for the long awaited tomorrow's already here
tomorrow I dust my feet and wipe sweat off my face
because finally I've finished running this race
tomorrow I bend down to my shoes and free my lace
pen and paper down, in honour of the moment I rest my case
tomorrow I pat myself in the back and wish myself luck
for seemingly bright is a future that was once dungeon dark,
After writing the very last word in Human Resource Class
tomorrow I'll finally take a deep breath and out, alas!
Another beginning for preference of not using new
tomorrow I've got tops to pop goat's meat to chew
tomorrow I'll dance to the rhythm of momentary serenity
I'll shout out loud from a three years' pent up insanity
to set free the monsters that had sieged my psyche
tomorrow my life changes because I'll start another hike
an adventure to nowhere for that's what I call everywhere
this life hasn't been my cup of tea, neither has it been my food
so tomorrow I say goodbye to calculus, albeit probably not for good
I've learnt not to think that the last page means the story is over
No! Happily ever after doesn't mean no more rolling in the clover
tomorrow for once in my life I shed a tear of relief
it wasn't a record breaking hike but I've overcome the cliff
tomorrow I credit tension and debit nonchalance
I've lost a drink today but I'll make up tomorrow
****** drained and deadbeat till the bone marrow
forget the agony of the fateful arrow of sorrow
tomorrow I'm the man with the whip, the legend of Zorro
A butterfly ready to fly straight out of the cocoon
the air caught within an overinflated balloon
tomorrow I start sailing the high seas once again
in the rocket ship of ambition, space bound shine or rain
for this isn't one of those stories of escapes so narrow
but one of years in a fortress from whence I get acquitted tomorrow
one.

    When she cries herself to sleep
    six out of seven nights a week you must
    say nothing. You must simply take
    her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
    pale cheeks and wait for her to
    slumber at the sound of your heart.

two.

    On the days where she wishes she
    were part of the stars, tell her
    no. Tell her that there are too many
    lights in the sky and that just one
    would be forgotten the moment you looked
    away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
    the way she is: completely human.

three.

     Don't let her think about the scars
     that no one but her can see. If she
     says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
     know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
     But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
     must be the one to do it herself, and you
     merely are there to quietly encourage her.

four.

     Read her poetry (even if you are
     not a poet), the kind that uses
     flowery words and compares girls to
     the moon; the kind that you will
     rewrite for her. Make her a warrior.
     Make her a goddess with eyes like a
     wolf's and a smile like a tiger's.

five.

     Laugh with her the first thing in
     the morning and the last thing before
     you fall asleep. Tell her cheap puns
     that you've been thinking of for weeks.
     And when she smiles - the type of smile
     that could bring you to your knees if
     you aren't careful - know that for the
     moment, she's yours. She is whole.

six.

    Love her. Love her like a fish loves
    the sea or a bird loves the sky. Love
    her in the way that your heart feels like
    it's going to burst at any moment every
    time it beats. Love her skin and the way
    it feels against your own, soft and warm
    and utterly flawless. Love her for the way
    her voice trembles when she can't keep it
    together anymore and love her when she
    holds onto you as if you were the only
    thing that was keeping her alive.

seven.**

     Love her, because some days she just can't do it herself.
---

A man near the 10 cities
Was mad and bound in chains
He could break all of his bonds
But never his sin's stains

The Gerasenes was home to him
But he was still outcast
He cut himself with stones
He had a madman's caste

No one would come near him
For fear he'd take their life
He was stong & terrible
But naked and in strife
Due to his insanity
The stones became a knife

Jesus must have known
This man was in great need
He decided to travel there
So that prisoner could be freed

Seeing him the Madman ran
To confront Him there
The demons in him knew their time
Was up... and they despaired

"Please let us go" they said aloud
"Into the heard of swine!
Please do not send us far away
For it is not our time!"

"What is your name?" Jesus asked
And this was very wise
They could never lie to Him...
"LEGION!" They replied

"We are very many..."
And that was truth back then
A legion of footsoldiers
Was at least 4000 men

So Jesus sent them to the pigs
And there they entered in
The swine ran into water
And, of course, they could not swim

The people of the region
Were told by the swineherds
Of all that had just happened
They ran and spread the word

They went up to Jesus
And found the man reclined
Sitting clothed & normal
He was in his right mind!

"Please leave our coasts!" They shouted
"We want no trouble here!"
They were all excited
And some were in great fear

"Please allow me to come with you!"
No wish to be alone...
The now-normal madman
Was then told to return home.



Is Jesus' arm now shortened?
Or can He Heal and Save?
Can he make deliverance
For those now so depraved?

If that man named "Legion"
Could be healed at last
Perhaps you could be also
No matter what your past!

Ask him to deliver you
You can make a start
He can come to help and Save
And finally heal your heart!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/25/2016
I have been noticing a lot of writing about cutting and self harm. And a lot of writing about demonic subjects. Actually the two things go hand-in-hand. Please consider this story from the Bible. It is located in The Book of Mark chapter 5. I saw an interview with a lady who had been a cutter. She asked Jesus to help her. She had read the story of the man named Legion. She really related to it... And asked Jesus into her heart to help her. She is now married with two children. AND NO LONGER CUTS!
Let it entomb you. Let the thing inside you rot and grow and brown. Let it fester there unencumbered. Let it chip away at your very being. An ocean against the weary foundation of your mind. A cancer in the soft flesh of your soul. A drought in the storm of your imagination. Let it well up within you. You are not a Man. You are not a corpse. You are not a tomb or a stone or flesh or a storm. You are only this. For a moment, give yourself wholly to sadness. Let it be.
I feel my whole body soften
like wax when you hold me.
Your kisses set my skin on fire
and your eyes defibrillate my heart.
© Nicola-Isobel H.          24.05.2016
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