imperfectwords: Poems

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imperfectwords Mar 2018

...

those dots appear
then quickly fade away
leaving me waiting
for a response
to the most important
question I could
ever ask you.

Do you love me?

1-800-273-8255

imperfectwords Jan 2018

1-800-273-8255

"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am
        still
        alive.

When you call a suicide prevention hotline, they will often ask you to describe to them 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste to help ease anxiety. I hope this poem helps someone struggling to look forward, because believe me, it does get better.

#depression #suicide #prevention #hope #recovery

Acceptance.

imperfectwords Jan 2018

Acceptance.

When strangers look at me,
they see a girl who seems
crazy.
I understand that
they might not get why.
It's hard to explain and
difficult to fully comprehend,
but it's okay.
How can I expect people
to commiserate, when they see me
obsessively counting steps,
perpetually cleaning surfaces,
constantly washing hands,
regularly checking locked doors,
randomly tapping everything,
and always
repeating?
The answer is:
I can't.
But it's okay.
It's okay because I know I'm
different.
I know I have odd routines
and strange rituals.
I know my fears aren't rational,
and my compulsions aren't
logical.
I know I look crazy to those
who don't know me,
who don't understand that there's
a constant battle in my
mind.
At the end of each day,
what really matters is not the
looks or degrading questions I
receive.
What matters is
how
I
see
myself.

#ocd #acceptance

Alive.

imperfectwords Jan 2018

Alive.

And as I inhale the clean sharpness of the sweet, fresh air,
I open my eyes upwards towards the beautifully crying sky.
Today I am alive.

We all need a wake-up call now and again to remind us that life is worth living. Mine is rain :)

Combatant

imperfectwords Dec 2017

Combatant

Perseverance is fleeting; there are times when
failure overwhelms all senses
and seeps into your thoughts like
black ink upon fibrous paper.

It taints your perspective on the world
and targets your weakest points
to fuel the negativity and self-doubt, leaving
nothing but hatred toward your own mind.

We all experience this at some point in our lives,
but some people must face this beast
time and time again, always expected
to recover for the sake of others' reassurance.

Escaping the sorrow may seem unfeasible;
broken wills may seem irreparable;
the prospect of recovery may seem preposterous
and hope might feel lost.

When you believe that life's purpose is sinister
and that continuing on is a punishment to be feared,
just remember that perseverance is fleeting;
but you've made it this far.

#keep #going #hope #failure #depression #you #are #loved

Dear Brooke,

imperfectwords Jan 2018

Dear Brooke,

Where is that little girl I used to know?
The one that helped me make faces in the half melting snow?
The child that would spend hours on the battered couch with me,
Wasting precious time trying to find our show on TV.
What ever happened to my first
best friend?
Oh the seconds, minutes, hours we would spend-
Laughing
Chasing
Walking
Talking
Running
then
Tripping
and
Falling,
all before more devilish
Door-bell Ringing
followed by rapid
Sprinting back
to your house
on the end of
the cul-de-sac
to find your angry mother,
whom later we'd
secretly laugh at...
So many memories,
Jumping fences,
Kicking soccer *****,
Washing sand from my eyes,
Ignoring the teacher to
make faces and laugh,
which we then disguised
as coughing so the fun
could carry on,
throughout kindergarten,
first, second, third,
and so on.
So many days spent crying over how you left me...
Now, my dear Brooke, I just think of you fondly.
Hopefully the next time I pass you
in the hallway,
you'll lift your head and look at me with those eyes I once adored,
which are now full of such
sadness and worry.
I yearn for those glory days, those beautiful times
I will never get back...
but maybe one day, I'll see a glimpse
of that silly little girl I once loved
who lived at the end
of the cul-de-sac.

empty

imperfectwords Feb 2018

empty

We wake and rise
To face the world
That impatiently awaits us
Each day,
But no one asks
About the strength
It must take
To keep rising
When there's nothing
Left here

making
you

stay.

happy pills

imperfectwords Dec 2017

happy pills

words spill from the woman's lips,
but I cannot hear a thing.
my mother sits across the room,
nodding as if pleased with this verdict.
more medication.
more artificial happiness.
less control.
that's all I want. control.
something I know I will never have but need nonetheless.
this woman speaks the names of many, many drugs that she attempts to combine.
an artist of intoxication,
she mixes chemicals as if preparing to paint a picture,
but this picture must cover up the old masterpiece,
something so worn and faded
it must be replaced.
for how could anyone love
the crumbling portrait of a once
beautiful girl.

#depression #anxiety #medication #fake #happiness

Incessant Routines.

imperfectwords Dec 2017

Incessant Routines.

Over the crack in the pavement I walk, four more steps, again.

Carefully scanning every familiar environment for threats; they are all around me.

Devils inside whisper gruesome thoughts that poison my mind and fray my nerves.

Insecurities plague my body, demanding to be acknowledged and obeyed.

Scratches appear on my arms; deep trenches from last night’s terrors.

Maybe I forgot to vacuum… or check for locked doors…

Yelling erupts inside my head, I need to go back to reassure these persistent voices.

Moving towards the wall, I give four taps; this will silence them for now.

Overwhelmed again, this time my mouth starts to count aloud: one, two, three, four; an endless loop.

Needless washing all day- dry, aching hands scrub again and again, then reach for more soap.

Sacrifices are made faithfully, I lose more of my passions and friends as this hellish nightmare continues.

Time flies as I organize… three hours to make the bed and straighten the lines on my uneven comforter.

Every routine is completed to agonizing perfection; all are followed until the next day when I

Repeat.

#anxiety #depression #routines #ocd #hard #times #frustration #mental #illness #habits

In the Dark

imperfectwords Mar 2018

In the Dark

I hear things at night,
In the dark.
Things most people would dismiss
In an instant.
Wind against my window,
Whisking away fallen leaves
From the frosted ground.
Creaks and groans as this
Aging house grows even older.
A little girl crying,
Wanting someone to help.
Needing anyone to listen,
To answer her desperate pleas.
I hear her every night,
But there is no helping.
She mirrors my actions,
Imitates my feelings.
We are two of the same,
But the people who know me
Only know her inverse.
The image I strive to maintain,
The one that slowly gnaws
Away at my sanity.
The true girl hides
Beneath the surface, and emerges
When the daylight leaves us cold
And in the dark.

Little Bird

imperfectwords Dec 2017

Little Bird

She sits outside, alone,
waiting for him to return.
Hours pass as she anxiously
checks her surroundings
for his familiar face.
The wind in the trees rustles
thousands of aging leaves,
producing a deafening sound
that fills the crisp autumn air.
She calls his name, again and again,
each time with less and less hope for his arrival.
Soon it is dusk, and although she wants to stay, she knows no one will come for her.
As the sunlight recedes over the treetops and shadows cover the ground, she faces her fear and
flies away.

#love #fear #alone

ode to school

imperfectwords Jan 2018

ode to school

i glance
at this
clock because
this block
will never
stop
oh how
i hate
this frickn
clock that
only ever
shifts when
i dont
stare and lift
my hands
to my
head where
these thoughts don’t
fit
oh my god
where is my
sanity
all i have left
is profanity
i need to
purge myself
of vanity
and
focus
focus
focus
on this clock
that prevents
me of thought
oh what i
would give
to not
live in this
twisted plot
where tears
fall
and fears
stall
and ears
hear all
they should
not
but i cry
nonetheless
maybe if i
die i can
finally shed
the stress
against the wall
here we
go
i sit and let
the demons
call
call
call
my name
to play
their game
but i cannot
blame these
voices give
me the
shame
for what i
create in
this ******* up
head
only adds
to the dread
that follows me around
invisible and
without sound
but still
it drives me
into the ground
what would
happen
if i drowned
in this misery
oh why do i
try to find
victory when
all i ever
win is
self-inflicted injury
another
cut
cut
cut
makes me
feel somewhat
at peace
nevermind the
blood but
the marks might
draw attention
gotta cover
up not to mention
lie
lie
lie
im alright
didnt sleep
last night
im just
tired
tired
tired of
this fight
that just might
end me
what will
come free my mind im
floating at sea
calm breeze
my
thoughts tease
me
hope flees
and again i am
left to sit
and grit
my teeth
as class continues
i want to
hit
hit
hit
my head
against
the wall
the bell
sends me
into shock
i glance
at the
clock
as my body
begins to
walk
walk
walk
out of this
hellhole
I have worked
hard for
this
freedom though
i know
it will go
as i return
for school
tomorrow.

(altered for public consumption- profanity edited out)

the most beautiful word.

imperfectwords Dec 2017

the most beautiful word.

love.
four letters,
only one syllable.
used so many times,
it now has lost meaning.
again and again you repeat yourself,
but I have lost count
of all your lies.
here you are
breaking another
promise.

#love #alone #broken #promises #lies #hurt

This Poem is Dedicated to The Wall Tile in my Shower

imperfectwords Jan 2018

This Poem is Dedicated to The Wall Tile in my Shower

We meet again, ***** tile. I rest my head against the wall, staring at you as the cold water spurting from the leaky shower head
hits my back in violent, uncoordinated patterns.
Now begins another session of deep contemplation...
what will we explore this time?
Why my family insists on being so loud? The recent event on the news, and how utterly ridiculous politicians act? The newest drama from school? What strange "fact" my friend said to me this morning that made me question her internet sources?
No. Tonight is a night of tears.
They run down my face, leaving hot streaks that come as a shock after the steady drumming of the cold water on my body.
Picking up speed, I feel like a shower of my own...
why am I so sad?
For many months I've asked myself this question.
Every day I enter this shower
and reveal my true face to you,
little tile.
This shower is my version of a zen garden... the only place I can truly delve into the emotions I have pushed so far away.
But try as I might, I can't keep this mask on forever.
More and more tears fall from my contorted face.
it's everything.
the answer is everything.
I am constantly told to be grateful for all I have, to be thankful for the roof over my head and my food and clothes and family...
Do they really believe I lack gratitude?
That my emotionless face equates to me acting
unappreciative?
Apparently it is unacceptable
for me to show my true face,
***** tile.
Evidently I must smile for the crowd, despite what
decay is taking hold inside.
So I will let these tears silently fall.
They are all that keep me real,
keep me human;
capable of other emotions than an exhausted smile
plastered to a weary face.
But I haven't long, I must collect myself again.
As my head separates from the porcelain surface,
I fix my eyes on you, my square friend.
What have I become?

What
have
I
become?

#sadness #uncertainty #fear #confusion #depression

Untitled

imperfectwords Jan 2018

Untitled

You are like rain.
quiet and soft;
beautiful no matter how intense.
You are like rain.
steady and swift;
as you go,
you leave my heart
colder than before.

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we are our own oppressors

imperfectwords Jan 2018

we are our own oppressors

"cant you just **** it up?"
my father asks me.
"maybe you need to be tougher,"
my therapist tells me.
"why do you let it all get to you?"
my best friend questions me.
"just let it roll off your back,"
my mother instructs me.
"what is wrong with you?"
my mind wonders.

we live in a world where we are trained
to be defensive around others,
not kind.
maybe instead of preparing for the cruelty of the world,
we can put down our weapons and
try to change the perspective
by turning the angry words into
hands to shake.

#spread #kindness #accept #others #stop #bullying

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