the terrible unfairness, of how there can be no healing without pain.


- haunts me in my sleep.

I JUST WANNA BE THE KIND OF BLOODBATH YOU CAN BRING HOME TO MOM.

WHAT IF IT NEVER GETS EASIER?

HOW MANY CUTS DOES IT TAKE TO CONVINCE YOU SOMETHING HURTS INSIDE?

HOW DEEP SHOULD THE BLADES SLICE BEFORE YOU SEE IT?

HOW MUCH BLOOD UNTIL I'VE DRAINED IT FROM MY SYSTEM?

daddy's little disappointment.

it's getting bad again.

the kind of bad that makes death look attractive.

empty.

I MISS HIM.

AND I LOVE HIM SO ****** MUCH.

SO FILLED WITH PAIN AND SADNESS, IT STRESSES THE THUMPS OF MY HEART BEAT  SO LOUD IT COULD WAKE THE WHOLE HOUSE.

I'M OPPRESSED BY AN EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM WHERE CODES OF CONDUCT GET DRILLED UPON A BLACK INDIVIDUAL BECAUSE OF HAIR COLOUR THAT DOESNT QUITE MATCH THEIR TINT.
TO EXTENTS WHERE THEY CAN FORCE YOU TO TURN BACK ON YOUR HUMAN RIGHT TO LEARN.
WHEREAS THE SAME WHITE INDIVIDUAL WHO TRANSFER THEIR HAIR COLOUR FROM BROWN TO BLONDE CAN SIT AND RECEIVE AN EDUCATION WE BOTH PAYED FOR.

NO NO NO BUT YOU SEE THEY COULDN'T SCRATCH BENEATH THE SURFACE 'CAUSE OF THEIR FRESHLY PAID FOR MANICURES. AND EXPENSIVE HAND LOTIONS THAT NEVER CHANGED THE ROUGH TEXTURE OF THEIR TOUCH.
I TRIED TO REACH THEIR MINDS BY RUNNING MY FINGERS THROUGH THEIR HAIR. BUT IT WAS COATED IN ARTIFICIAL BYPRODUCTS MANUFACTURED BY THOSE WHO PROCLAIM THAT WE AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH WITHOUT IT.
SO I COULDN'T FIND IT.
I COULDN'T FIND THEIR ROOTS.
I BEGGED THEM TO BREAK A NAIL FOR ME.
THEY NEVER LISTENED WHEN I SAID I DON'T MIND DRY HANDS.
WE'VE NEVER HAD OUR HAIR WASHED.

i felt you did not have to be buried in cemeteries, to feel dead inside.

And there I was.
Reading the side of my Coca-Cola can.
It says; to share it with dad.
So here I am.
Offering the can to a grave.

(If only death understood patience.)

God.

Why did I not learn to treat everything like it was the last time?
Because my greatest regret is how much I believed in the future.

But I was young.
So therefore; naive.

So ******* naive, I tell you.

Told the ground I wouldn't take no for an answer.
But they buried you anyway.

The last time you were sad. -they asked

I couldn't answer.

Because you see, the thing is.

The sadness never stopped.

I did not understand the depth of sadness, until i started drowning in my mind.

And it seemed like loneliness was a friend, that visited much too often at night.

And, somestimes i wished, it wasn't only my hands that wiped the tears from my eyes when i cried.

i made two cups of hot coffee and watched as yours turned cold. you're not here.
and all i can think about is how you should be.

I giggled my way out of every bad memory.

I pretended nothing hurt.


Until it didn't.

are you there, god?
or are you having nightmares
about the echoes of children's prayers you couldn't answer?

Pain.

In the form of the way father
clenched his fists in anger,
and mother's grip around the red wine bottle at 3 am in the morning.

"Destroy what destroys you." -they said.

**NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I'M IN RUINS.

And I sort of fell in love with plastic cups.
The ability to fall, and never break apart.
Because, as for me.
I'm just a glass positioned a little to close to the edge of the table.

And somehow believing I could find happiness at the bottom of a liquor bottle.
Only left feeling as empty as the glass by the end of the night.
Shots.
In the form of bullets to my head.
I wish.

And we made a promise.
To schedule a day at some random cafe.
Where we'd sit, with an over-sized cup of coffee.
And talk for hours about everything we hated about the world.

I miss you dad.

He said he'd rob a bank for me.

What?

No!

Then he gets caught. Like a fish on a hook, and where does that leave me?
Talking to him through a pitch black telephone, on the other side of a glass window, on some old wooden chair.
Seeing him dressed in orange uniform and a guard behind his back, like loving him was some sort of crime in itself, and then before you know it, times up.
A mere few minutes, for him to see how much I loved him, and it'd break my heart, like how a glass lands harshly on tile floors, it'd break me every time.
To think he'd have to get locked up behind metal poles, every night, when my arms would have done enough cuffing.

I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

Numb?

Numb* means no pain.
Numb means no sadness.
Numb means no fear.

Numb?

Well.
Numb means happiness.

Numb only applied to the things that didn't make you feel good inside.
That made the ground crumble beneath your feet.
It applies to the things that made you cry at night, to the reasons there were slits on your wrists.

Numb meant your loneliness proceeded to not exist.
Numb meant you weren't the only one facing the world,
(a world so cold, yet equally sympathetic.)
Numb meant you didn't need pills to make you happy, or shall I say, feel less worthy of life.

What if maybe, you'll bump into some girl at a coffee shop, and she'll apologize continuously about spilling on your cloud white shirt, the one you just bought a couple of days before, and you'll grab her silky soft hand to assure her its okay. Then she'll offer you a cup of coffee "on the house" or maybe even a cuppachino, and you'll gladly accept, amused by the sparkles in her eyes, and how her smile lights up a room, and you'll offer her a seat, even pull her chair out, like the gentleman you are, and you'll talk and talk and talk and talk. Talk about stupid stuff. Random stuff. About work, or how she loves chocolate ice-cream, and you'll laugh, laugh 'till your tummies ache, and before you know it, you'll realize you're in love.

And I'll be here.
Waiting.
Only to realize,
the girl you loved,
wasn't me.

:smile.
:but I can't.
:why?
:cause then it'll mean I'm happy.
:what's wrong with being happy?
:the fact that I'm actually sad.
:sad?
sad from?
:life.
:life.
what about life?
:the fact that I can't end it.
:why would you wanna end life?
:it was never my choice to begin it.
:therefore not your choice to end it either, right?
:the same man that ends the war, is not the same man who begun it.
:silence?
*:thought so.

And as much as they tell us to be ourselves.
That what?
"Everybody else is taken."

God knows who told them that everybody else was who you wanted to be.

And I should have joined a masquerade.
Believe me.
I wore masks all the time.

I slid the blade across my skin.
1 time.
2 times.
3 times.
So many times, actually.

I am a woman, firm and strong.
A woman that will not stand for what is wrong.
I am a woman who will fight for what is right.
A woman in darkness who will shine like a light.
I am a woman who strives to do the best.
A woman who perseveres and will not rest.

I am a woman who cares for what is small.
A woman who is unique and special to all.
I am a woman filled with love.
A woman who aims to soar like a dove.
I am a woman, strike a rock, if you strike me.
A woman, yes.
A woman is who I love to be.

And everyday that I woke.
I had to remind myself.
Remind myself,
you were no longer here.
That your arms were no longer around for me to run into.
That your shoulder was no longer around for me to cry on.

*That I had to lean on me.