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 Jan 2019 Sultana Shtayan
Ciel
Pain
 Jan 2019 Sultana Shtayan
Ciel
I was hurting, suffering
From a pain so great,
That words, screams and tears
Were not enough.

So I did the only thing
I knew how to:
I danced,
And danced,
And danced some more.

I danced
Until my feet bled,
And my vision was blurry
From the sweat and fatigue;
Until I was breathing so hard
That it burned my lungs;
Until I could no longer feel
My legs aching;
Until my lips were so dry and chapped,
It hurt to smile or move them at all.

I let the music carry me,
And with every note,
With every beat,
I would imagine a string
Attaching to my limbs
Allowing me to lose control,
Allowing me to surrender
Until I was no longer in charge
Of my movements.

It felt good.
That pain felt comforting.
Normal. I understood it.
It let me know I was alive still.
It let me know I could still feel something.
And so I welcomed it.
For it was nothing compared
To the one that I felt inside.

The one that was invisible,
Yet suffocating me with its presence.
The one that left me numb every night.
The one that filled me up with fear
And still drained me of all emotions.

The one I tried to ignore,
But seemed to never leave.
Always stalking me,
Hiding in the shadows
Waiting for its moment.
A moment of weakness,
Of solitude
Or ultimate numbness,
A moment I was terrified
Would soon come.
I know this poem is sad and sombre but it is how I felt and I know a lot of people can relate. One thing I would like to say however is that it gets better. It really does. Once you decide to get better, you will.
Some days like today,
I feel weak, everything seems bleak,
And a voice inside me begins to say,
The dead ones are free.

Some days like today,
I feel like I've been cheated,
Off of the life I really wanted to live.
I cheated myself and I can't live with the consequences…
So the voice inside me begins to say,
The dead ones are free.

Some days like today,
I need help but I'm scared to admit,
I'm not suicidal, don't put me on trial,
Maybe if you can sit and listen,
Maybe you'd hear the voice inside me beginning to say…
The dead ones are free.
The dead ones are free.
The dead ones are free.
The dead ones are free.
And they want us to just see.
I'd write you letters,
But you won't write back,
I'd send you flowers,
But you don't fancy that,
I'd beg you to come over,
We both fancy that.

You'd push me over,
But I don't push back,
You've got many lovers,
And I don't fancy that,
I had only one lover,
But she didn't want me back,
And whenever you come over,
It gets more fancier.
It hurts so bad
Not the pain of today
Not even the pain of yesterday
Maybe the pain of a lifetime ago
Not any less
Definitely more
My adult mind is realing
Punishing the little girl I was
The little girl who accepted so much
Fought so little
Torn apart by what I could have done
Beaten down by what i should have done
Terrorized by what I didnt do
Haunted by what I did
I survived
I am alive
But when will I start living
Just try to ignore him...

Ignore his stench,
Like sweat drenched fears?
Ignore his laugh,
Like a shrill in my ears?
Ignore his face,
Like a revolting ghoul?
Ignore his imbalance,
Like a battered mule?
Ignore his touch,
Like a rugged wrench?
Ignore his darkness,
Like an endless trench?
Ignore his power,
Like a stifling net?
Ignore the things,
I beg to forget?
Allison Wonder © 2018
Oh the existential crisis when you realize
That freedom never existed
Not for him
Not for her
Not me.

Yet my mind wonders what this freedom would feel like
That never belonged
Not to him
Not to her
Never Me.
Sometimes I wonder
Just what is the point
Of cultivating a dead garden?
A dying friendship?

The flowers only wilt
The conversation scarce
No matter how much you check on them
Defend them from the elements
Encourage and will them to exist
There exist only the hard truth

You can only grow
What wishes to grow
Save
What wishes to be saved.

— The End —