I feel them touching me
in my sleep .
That morning I spent as a servant .
☆
They leave signs for me
on the road .
A person's name scribed
upside down ,
three times and in a row .
☆
I feel them next to me
on my bed .
That morning I spent as a servant .
☆
They reveal many things
in my dreams .
A story that was hidden ,
concealed ,
three times and in a row .

October 21, 2008
My birthday
As a kid I was always so excited
I had a list of everything
That I desired for my special day
But now I'm turning sixteen
I don't know what I want
I don't know who I am
And for the first time
I could care less if my birthday came
Or if it just passed me by
Like everyone else in this cruel world
I feel lost
Broken
I want to go back
To when things were simpler
I just want to be a kid again

I try to pinpoint when my childlike rage started, but it never started. It was passed through my blood, out of the womb. my mother and father gave me this poison, fire in my blood, that is slowly burning me from the inside out.

Claim my burden but never

offer your shoulder

to confide, 

to cry,

But you have no tears to spare.

Trying to eat the slice of pie

I spent hours baking,

you spent seconds eating.

Those peaches were freshly picked!

Bathed in bicarb! 

I scrubbed the dirt

until it was nothing but

another piece of myself

for you to ******.

I do not swallow sweetness, 

I choke on copper,

throat bursting to the brim

with pennies-

the same pennies you offer

in penance 

for the burden of lead that

nooses my neck. 

You wear it by choice;

by Gold, 

by Glory,

believing our blood is the same drop split in two.

Though it is proven to be yours for the taking,

you will be tasked with breaking each 

frozen finger, 

forced to pry your prize from

my bruised palms.

From a window up high
I can hear the rain
Drumming down
Grey
Sloshing through streets and
Ruining leather shoes  

Children scream in delight
And scatter
Running with their school bags or jackets
Up over their heads
Some not even bothering
No umbrellas
Revelling in their drenched clothes
Water dripping down their noses

And I think about how
It happens one day -
You start to step over puddles
Instead of jumping in them

I felt like I was robbed
Stabbed
Ever since I was eight
When I ate
And felt good
About my childhood
So carefree
So bother free
I was robbed
And stabbed
In the back
With a pitchfork

Now, I'm dealing with injuries
Heart injuries
That never gets better
Only poorer
As days go by
And fly by
It gets more tiring
And damaging
To move
To make a move

when i was younger I would crawl into bed and try to stave off the gut-crush of guilt. i was guilty about everything. everything was small and somehow the biggest thing in the world. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) it guilt came crushing in. usually i would cry. if i couldn't fight it off by myself, i'd roll in on myself like a dying bug. limbs a tangle. twitching slightly. sometimes i could catch myself. count myself into oblivion until i forgot whatever it was. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) usually i'd holler for my mother, my god. quiet, at first. finally loud enough for her to hear me form down the hall. (god wanted to watch tv. god probably pretended not to hear me until i was screaming.)
"what's wrong?" she'd ask me.
"can you come in here, please?" my voice. small.
there she was, every time. a gray silhouette in a slice of golden light. and i would confess to her, like she was god. I was not raised religious. (i needed something to cling to.) she absolved me every night. scornful, reassuring. (i think i am lucky i was not raised catholic. because i had a god who loved me.) she taught me guilt and burned me free of it every night.
i don't confess anymore.
i have not seen god since i was twelve and my other became human. sometimes i think of writing letters and burning them, to purge the crushing feeling form my chest. sometimes i think of making myself throw up. most of the time i switch it off like she taught me, think about something else and fall asleep. (i sleep with the light off, now.) the dark does not stroke my hair. the dark does not tell me to apologise. the dark does not tell me i am good, that it isn't my fault. (i still need someone to tell me it isn't my fault.)