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  Jul 2018 Jessy
Pure of Stars
I’m drowning in my sorrows
   And my anxiety is my anchor
Each worried thought and “what if” pulling me down and down
I can no longer breath and I’m itching in my skin
My lungs feel as if they are about explode with every thought that has brought me down
I watch as I sink further and further down
Any light of hope disappearing
Now it’s dark
And I know there is no way out
In drowning in my sorrows
And you weren’t there to pull me out
Guess it’s a writing day for me, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Feeling kinda lonely :)
  Jun 2018 Jessy
Waking up to a heavy chest
My body begging me to sleep again
And my anxiety begins the second I realize I'm alive
I'm trying to learn to function
With all of this negative energy inside me
I know it'll pass and
I know it'll get better
But right now it hurts
I feel unloved
I feel lost inside myself
A place I can't stay too long
Before I lose my mind
I can tell myself I'm worth it and
That my worth isn't defined by others
And it works for a bit
Until something else comes up and
My heart loses its energy
And I either feel like giving up
Or ready to fight everyone
  Jun 2018 Jessy
She threw to many sharp stones.
So as her glass house tumbled down,
She would pick one of the shards of choir glass off the ground and use it
as a instrument.
Always playing the same violent violin piece across her dynamical skin.

Her mother always knew she had
a gift for music.
So when she heard the same solemn chorus pitching from the living room ceiling,
She darted to steal the show.

And become her daughters duet...her piano,
To hug her so tightly,
Singing and squeezing
Until her violin chords stopped bleeding.
Parents make and break you
  Jun 2018 Jessy
My whole world
Down around my ears,
And all you can do is
"It’s schadenfreude, *****.
Nothing I can do.
You gotta help yourself."
Help myself?
I get up in the mornings
When I feel like leaving my bed
Might **** me.
Sometimes I even get dressed
Even though the seams of jeans
Scraping against my thighs
Is like a subtle, silent torture.
Reminding me
Of the scars they sit against.
Even though the necessity
Of removing my shirt
Makes me want to peel off
My skin along with it.
Because it doesn’t fit
Has never fitted
Feels so wrong.
I help myself
Every time I take a bite of food,
Ignoring the voice in my head
That tells me I’m fat.
Every time I step out the front door
Fighting through a wall
Built in my head
But very, very solid,
Constructed of all the fears
My subconscious can imagine.
And it can imagine a lot,
Trust me,
I’m a writer and an artist,
My imagination knows no bounds.
Mix it with self loathing,
And a good measure of crazy
And it makes a witch’s brew
“nice try, *******.”
Don’t tell me to help myself,
When you have no idea
What it is like to live
While arguing with yourself,
Being shouted at inside your head,
Everything a battle.
Don’t. *******. Tell me
That you understand.
You don’t.
How can you,
Unless you’ve spent days,
Hiding in your room,
Because downstairs there are knives
And everything
In you wants to feel them
Sliding through your flesh.
How can you,
If you haven’t looked in a mirror
And seriously contemplated
Just hacking bits off.
Because the pain of doing that
Would surely be less
Than the pain of seeing
Those alien body parts
Hanging from your frame
Every day.
How can you know?
How can you tell me
To just smile.
Just think positive.
Just go for a walk.
Drink green tea.
Eat some chocolate.
Do yoga.

Don’t tell me I’m ok.
I’m not.
And that’s ok.
I don’t have to be a perfect,
Functioning member of your society.
They’re your rules,
Not mine.
I don’t have to be happy in myself
All the time.
I don’t have to smile
Until my face aches,
While holding my tears inside.
I help myself.
Every day.
Just by continuing to exist.
By continuing to look ahead
And try.
  Jun 2018 Jessy
Laying awake night is probably one of worst things about depression.
Because you’re neither tried or energized.
You just lay there.
Depression isn’t just being sad.
Depression isn’t just sitting at home because your to upset to go out.
It’s so much more.
It’s hard for people to talking about depression.
Just like the incarcerated cousin at family gatherings.
Or the just not so okay uncle that’s a little to close with kids.
But not talking about “it”
Is something you shouldn’t do.
Depression is something that can’t be defined.
It’s like water in a glass.
Shape shifting.
But we all still love and appreciate water?
So why not depression?
Ohh because it changes the loved one?
But what if the loved one really needed you to be there
But instead you ignore them because you think they need space.
Be there. No matter what.
Attempt to talk to them. Don’t push them away
Don’t ignore them when they are screaming for help.
Would you help a loved one if they were in pain?
Or would you just watch them suffer.
That’s what ignoring the topic of depression does.
i haven't been on here in a while.
  May 2018 Jessy
a striking slice along the creamy white
freckle galaxy that is my thighs

is this what i've become?

a dab of crimson, slow pour at first
then a scarlet waterfall, perfect picture of my pain.

why did i do this

throbbing pain, dulling my senses
my mind is numb, almost at ease.

it hurts, i knew it would

gently easing cotton over wound,
bittersweet burgundy blood, feeding into pristine purity

what have i done
Yeah, i stole the title from a taking back sunday song
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