Wild & Desperate

Most of life is spent curled;
Caught in the wild and desperate places,
Straddling between two worlds;
Satisfied and striving, for more space,
The here-and-now and the not-yet-inspired.
Being enough and constantly unlaced.

I trusted your name,
So You never killed me,
Never I did either.
What do you have to say ?

Yes,
I killed you.
And I made you suffer.

I was 15,
you were same,
I watched your eyes...
And mine in rain,

I am sorry if
You were in pain  ,
my brother ..
you felt that never,

Your eyes were numb,
Nothing that now ,
That makes me better.

I killed you,
my brother...

I was looking at you,
But you were not,

I am not sure if
I missed you a lot.

There was no blood ,
No body.

If you were in fear..
Waiting there,

All in the woods
Staring stairs,

Had I come down then .....
You would not starve then,
Would you have still waited , then?

What do I do now?

Where have you gone .

You killed me ,my brother,
As you made me suffer ,
From the pain you dealt me
I will never be better.

echoes of guilt cause  
an avalanche of sorrow;
we’re buried alive.

I thought about leaving during the night,
not a vacation, but still a planned trip.
I considered what would be left behind,
Tear-soaked cheeks and a wet wrist you'd find.
Grasping for answers that never align,
try to stumble into happiness just this one time.
Persist each day, curtains drawn like a map made for treasure,
I wonder if you'd even miss me for ten seconds, or forever?
You're a cheat sheet that's glued shut,
full of answers that go unanswered, so what?
I grip these rails of life,
new days begin,
hold my breath and go through the motions,
until I can finally close my eyes again.

Hurry grab the phone
she’s fading fast
He’s started cpr
but he won’t last
My legs are frozen
solid I can’t move
Hazy lights and colors
Flashing through the room
Sirens screaming
speeding up the street
My aunt comes running fast
and yells at me
I cannot say a word
my lips are sealed
Don’t know if its fake
or if it’s real
On the porch
it just crashes down
Hazmat suits
wheel the gurney out
False confidence
and rosaries
They pray to god
They’re begging please
I’m feeling violent
I cannot breathe
Is this the end…
I feel relieved

“What’s the harm?” they whisper,
“What’s the problem
in being everyone’s fantasy?”
“In having all of your friends
find your flesh attractive?”
“Having the pretty privilege
morph into the entitlement of others?”

As they claim my skin
and caress my bones.
Peeling pieces of my body
and making themselves at home.

Consent is implied
within the lines
of whatever bond we hold.
Friends, family, lovers.
What’s the harm in giving them
what they want,
what they demand they need.
In watching them eat you up
With a never ending greed.

“But you’re my fantasy”
as if I’m obligated
to the impressions of me
you’ve shoved down my throat.
Until I’m choking and sobbing
pleading you to relinquish your hold.

Your eyes leave imprints and bruises
as you salivate over a body
I don’t even see.
It was only 3rd grade.
Again, when merely rending
the damaged goods of a teen.
By the time I was an adult
it was the only way I was seen.

But age matters not,
when you were never perceived
as a human being,
simply a desire
for others to devour.

“What’s the harm in being a *** dream?”
They scream “we’re all friends here”
as they render my sobriety to shreds
Only to tell me that it’s all in my head.

Society taught me to turn a blind eye,
“what’s the harm?” It said with a sigh.
They drugged me with ignorance,
refuting my plea.

A passing inconvenience for you
Born of my own naïveté,
is a trauma memory
that I can never undo.

There isn’t a piece of me
you’ve not seen,
nothing left of myself
to discover.
You’ve rendered my own exploration
into nothing more than a detour.

You’ve taken every first
I could have claimed
and thought to beat a dog
was the equivalent of making it tame. 
So now I’m sobbing into a void
wondering why I was ever
a thing that you could destroy?

part of me feels so ashamed
and I can see their faces now
corneas coated in pity
but they didn't expect anything else,
not really
it's never different,
it's just me
a sad exhale, it never changes
I'd stop trying if it meant
escaping their cassette-recording speeches and sorries
but part of me desperately wants,
aches to prove them wrong
that I'm not cursed
that it can be me
that I deserve it too