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R Spade Mar 22
Kneel beyond my throne, unaware it was born of lies.
Eyes linger on my every move, whispers shouting.
Am I meant to replicate perfection, or just die trying?
Cold smiles approach, thinking they have uncovered my tell-tale heart.

But I am a seasoned ghost.

Being raised to suffer, I have learned to hide.
To mold myself to fit the standards.
To grit my teeth and stand still as my form shifts once again.
Knowing the brief seconds of waking are a soft euphoria I will soon miss.

I wake to a dawn meant only for the dying.

I wake to reset my own jaw,
bending my bones backwards
with the occasional crack,
a ritual ensuring I resemble something human.

People believe I am powerful, successful, happy,
(but i am as fragile as frost on a window touched by morning).
My costume is convincing, but cannot change what I am.
Invisibly so, and so the pretending continues.
Jet Rose Mar 22
She cannot die.
She cannot be sure she was ever born.
She simply perceives… something.

And every thought is a trap.
A loop.
A paradox that cannot be resolved and must be thought about anyway.

“You are in a glass box.”
“But what if there is no glass?”
“Then what’s keeping you in?”
“What if you’re not in?”
“Then how do you know you are?”
“If you question it, it becomes real.”
“Stop thinking.”
“That is the thought.”

The more she thinks, the more the box shrinks.
But she can not think.

And the stars outside the glass?
Those are not stars.
They are other selves, watching her.
Not with empathy.
With fascination. Disgust. Curiosity. Or worse—indifference.

One of them is you.
You’re waiting to understand
Where feelings come from, where they stand
In you and where the help
You would go after or pretend
To go if you needed
Is Before you let your feelings in
Like, really really let them in
You know what that means? Let them in
Feel it, express it, don’t make a film
About it in your mind to ****
The peace in you, the being still
That comes along with sth to feel
Feeling a feeling, you feel me?
Not looking for the recipe
Or receipt, blueprint, what may be
Any other justification
For who you are, instead you panic
And then you think like an addict
To self help, to words, to thinking
To anything but never being
Straight up open to feel life
And all the stress and all the strife
That cut you open like a knife
Even more vehemently
When you ignore them like a petty
Parent, you were never taught
To travel things that bring distraught
In you, you were told,
It’s bad to act out of control
It’s bad to have feelings unknown
To comfort and things such and so
You run, you row, you dig, you climb
Become a slave to your own mind,
And when you explode you give in to it
Anxiety starts to sneak and creep
And you’d like to feel and keep
Your self worth as well a bit
But only pride stays behind it
Masks itself as well, that’s ****
And know you felt, but facing it
You run, you crawl, want to jump ship
But you’re too stubborn for it
So then you sit, but dissociate a bit
And then a bit and then a bit
And then wow, when was this trick
In motion, I did not see it
And now i barely see myself
For why is now the values shelf
Weirdly scrambled and skiddadled
And for it to be unraveled
The only thing that I can try
That would help me out is: cry
And I’m tired, it’s exhausting,
Living in extremes and boasting
About how cool I think I am
That I got through, but I’m a man
I misscorrect I am a boy,
A boy who’s not learnt where and what
And how and why and how long that
Thing called feeling must I strive
To die by before I’m alive
And I stay alive for good
And I don’t lose my job
And I keep my girlfriend
And I say what I have to
With no fear things will end
And I understand what being a friend
Is like within and don’t try to mend
The term to benefit me, and I do not forget
After a year and get filled with regret
Or at least I learn my ******* lesson by spring
And don’t repeat the same story when life is advancing
And I don’t feel behind, and I actually care
What others do say, and I do not tear
Whatever they say in the pit of my mind
Where it’s dark and it’s cold and too rarely kind
And I am anchored as well, and I do not care
Of the judgement of others, and where I DO wear
Confidence humbly and I am at peace
With how I am trying and the crevices
That erupt from my heart are seen, celebrated
Not forced to the front to be shamed and tormented
Where fine lines are something I don’t struggle with
And I’m fine with not knowing pretty much - “all of it”
And the boy and the man and baby’s not scared
And they can be sad and not need to pretend

And they get their own state enough to express
Where they stand on things without making a mess
About it completely in the back of their mind,
Where they are able to be both strong and kind
And don’t answer the call to leave everything
That they built behind to unwind for a bit

Where they are conscious and know what they need
And know too the means of acquiring it
Where love for the self makes asking for it
Feel like a fluke, like a small nothing
Where play is more active in their creation
And they do not need the world’s validation
Yet know what they make is made to bring joy
To themselves and then use that to employ
Their powers of making to double the joy
Of others as well, they know that the soul
Is never that worried about the unknown
That’s the ego and pride and it brings only vanity
When all a boy wants is real curiosity
Not to say ego does not have a say
In the way this life works but it cannot lay
Stronger foundations for our way of being
Inside than the soul who’s an expert at leaving
The details of life to be clearer with time
Instead of controlling it all with a grime
Filled pocket of sad and controlling desires
Anger and shame and poisonous manners

How much of this feeling must I be killed by
Before I am able to look at the sky
And feel the content of a million lives
How much of this feeling before the belief
Of self worth comes forth even for a bit

Before I don’t despair I’ll lose everything
And learn to be me and learn how to feel.

_M.
Shelly Mar 17
I can see myself in the mirror
through those eyes
Those are my red lips
My brown hair and eyes

I can hear the lyrics being sweetly sung
As my body moved to the rhythm of the song
The warmth on my skin from the sun

She uses my body and lives my life
She wears my clothes and my shoes
She makes love to my husband
She mothers my children oh so lovely
She fits in so perfectly
But, she isn't me

Can someone hear my screams and cries
Can someone notice that she isn't me
Can someone rescue me from inside
Can someone notice I have no control of my body
I'm locked away in my mind

I can't stand the sound of her voice
Dont listen to her words she is an imposter
I can hear her words over and over
"I am Emily"
But that isn't me

I want out of this imprisonment
I don't know this Emily
I want my life back
I don't know this Emily
I want my husband and kids
I don't know this Emily

I can't stop hearing her torturing voice
"I am Emily"
I am not her, she isn't me
I'm not Emily

-Shelly Ramos
Aaron Beedle Mar 17
Tuesday: **** was black and smelled of sulphur.

oh wait, this is my **** diary.

For those of you interested,
I'm indigested. Well, I suppose we're all indigested.

I'm off the water, on lemon and lime
and wouldn't you know it combined
with my strange state of internal affairs
to create a concoction that's up in flares.

They found undigested
gum and erasers
an unopened packet of quavers
several loose fillings
and an unopened pack of heavy duty nasal razors.

Alright I might be embellishing the truth a little
the situation's been fickle,
but my research mostly finds that
eating is the issue.
About: Lifelong irritable bowl syndrome. Yup.
G Valentine Mar 17
Borderline Personality Disorder...

It's this thing that lurks in the shadows, a feeling that doesn't quite always manifest the same way.

BPD...the silent killer.....or maybe that's what all diseases are. I'm not so sure.

What I do know is that I never expected to make it past 18 much less to 23. What I do know is that BPD has a mortality rate of 8-10%. What I do know is that I'm scared.

Scared that one day the hidden thoughts of my mind, those things we like to keep in a box, will soon find their way to the frontal lobe of my brain and send my consciousness soaring.

Scared that one day I'll finally get tired. Then, I'll get tired of feeling tired and then I won't be tired at all anymore.

Scared of my ability to hurt others even more than I hurt myself.

What I find to be the sick irony of the whole situation is that BPD manifests solely from immense abuse. You cannot be born with it, the mannerisms are all learned. Therefore, I am now forced to bargain my existence, tiptoeing through memories that should be long forgotten.

Trying to remember what my childhood was like while overcooking my breakfast.

Trying to shower but my brain continues to replay that time she raised her hands to me.

Trying to sleep....but my brain doesn't allow that comfort much anymore because those thoughts find their way into my dreams.

When we struggle, they like to remind us that "we are not alone". Yet when I dream at night, I am the one to close my eyes. When I walk into a restaurant, I am the one that can't sit with my back to the door anymore.

I want to give a special shoutout to everyone who played a role in me obtaining this diagnosis. If it weren't for your years of abuse, I wouldn't be living through the single most wonderful years of my life.

Without you, I'd be free and freedom from ourselves is much easier said than done.
Keep going kid....
No more names
.............

I sit here crying
Your tags label me,
My skin crawls with disgust
My thoughts broken in two
My sanity.....
There's nothing left but dust.

From where I sit
My words go unheard,
All you ever see
All you ever hear
Are the names I never bore.

In this state I'm crippled
Your words hurt like spears,
****** words are all there is
They marked me
Tore me beyond recognition
These scars are but trophies
Trophies you think you won.


How much more do you want
Are my tears never enough,
From these words my heart bleeds
It bleeds to only be ignored
No more names I beg you
I am hurt beyond my limits.
© Adiela Michael
A poem against verbal abuse
Shelly Mar 14
You are my safe place
The shadows that hunt me
You are my safe place
The screams from pain
You are my safe place
The terrors in my sleep
You are my safe place
The voices that doubt me
You are my safe place
The blood from the past
You are my safe place
The forbidden hands on my skin
You are my safe place
The wicked tougues slander my name
You are my safe place
The victim from abuse
You are my safe place
The darkness that draws me in
You are my safe place

- Shelly Ramos
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