I sat down at a computer and tried to use words to paint to the feeling in my chest, or the lack of feeling in my chest, the sharp stabbing in my chest I felt every time our eyes met, every time for 365 days, the feeling in my chest that started to manifest itself in the shape of 14 hour naps and 750 mililiter bottles of alcohol. I could not formulate sentences much less images of what I could have been but instead had to face the reality of what I had become, it was not a who, but a what and that what did not know where she was going or why she let herself turn into something so empty and why she was not fighting for substance inside her. I was too weak to fight back. How do you teach yourself how to love your own self, while you fight like hell with her every single day? I could not formulate sentences nevermind find the strength to admit I was empty to someone who could fill me and I spent a year trying to teach myself that humans could not fill the void, I kept looking for humans to fill the void. I kept looking and never found one single human to make me feel important. I have this problem where I think that if I am not important to the entire world that I am not important at all, isn't it important enough to be someone to those you love? I could not fill myself up with the cradling words of my mother, oh how my mother would have collapsed if she knew that the daughter she raised was out killing herself slowly every day and could not find the energy to care or cry or ask for help, I asked for help when it was too late and the cycle had already swallowed me whole. I found solace in condensing months of suffering into tiny pink pills that I could fit in my mouth and chase with rum. I used to drink until I ended up on bathroom floors but the night my friends all found their way into their lovers' beds after doing the same and I fell asleep on tile was the same day I told myself I was ready to fall in love again. It was the falling that I had missed, but not the love. I wanted the chase because it made the cavity in my chest feel more shallow even if it was for a day even if it was never going to go away, at least it felt that way. But the truth is, it never did. I slept with men who never listened when I talked and when I talked they said it was too much. I stopped trying to talk and eventually could not think and the smart girl who was pretty too became the loud girl no one wanted to spend the night with because she did not know how much was too much and I hated that girl.
How long should I sit here and pretend that I haven't wanted to end it for 17 years?
How long should I say 'I'm good' when I was just crying the bathroom ten minutes ago?
How long should I stare in the mirror and say 'Maybe I'll cut my hair tomorrow' knowing deep down I won't go for the next six months.
How long should I avoid the inevitable?
How long is too long?
How long can I look at this world, this society, and think that this is the type of world I want to live in?
I'll miss you, like how the moon misses the sun. I want you, like how the sun cries its rays every morning when it wakes trying to make the moon stay, but it couldn't. There will always be a part of me that is a half moon, a quarter, a part missing, a part that is with the sun, but cannot be seen, a part that time wants to stay with day, but unable to.
Last night, I had a most horrific nightmare.
You lived five-hundred miles away from me;
the roads adorned with fear and thorns.
We could never tell our fathers, nor breath a word to our mothers,
but my God, we were so in love.
Under the shadow of the night, secluded in our rooms,
we would stay up for hours, phones alight with wonder.
We shared secretive photographs, candid messages, and
talked, just talked-
Until one day, I was rambling-
I confess I cannot recall what about,
and my life suddenly imploded on itself when
you told me you loved me.
The joy I felt was beyond articulation,
but comprehensible in which it did not last.
Black smoke of distance and loneliness threatened to
choke us each passing day.
We were writing a tragedy of our very own.
One of pain, so tainted-
an absence of hope and an abundance of fear;
A tale to outlast the Devil.
Staring at my pale reflection, there were black tears down my cheeks-
a waking nightmare rushing to greet me from times not quite left behind.
I cried as the twinkling starlight passed through the windows
for no memory so sad could ever be escaped.
Last night, I had a most wonderful dream.
You lived in the house next door to me;
our yards adorned with white-picket fences.
Our fathers would chat over cars, our mothers over tea,
and my God, we were so in love.
In the broken down treehouse, perched behind your yard
we would sit for hours, your legs dangling over the side.
We ate gorgeous summer strawberries smothered in sugar and
talked, just talked-
Until one day, you were just rambling-
I confess I cannot recall what about-
and there was something about the sun,
illuminated in your ocean-blue eyes, and I kissed you.
It was beyond what my words have the capability to describe.
A trickling river; a rushing waterfall;
a roaring sea; crashing waves.
It was exactly how I'd dreamed my first kiss would be.
We were writing a love story of our very own.
One of joy, so pure-
an absence of fear and an abundance of hope;
A tale to outlast the angels.
As I woke up, there were black tears down my cheeks-
reality rushing up to greet me from the dreamscape I had left.
I cried as the morning light beamed in through the windows
for no story so happy could ever have been real.
Hold me tight,
your arms wrapped like vine
trace a kiss with your fingers
on those unkissed lips of mine
Grip me tighter,
the clock chimes at 3
I don't want to move
Cause then I’d want to take you with me
hug me goodbye,
you don’t look into my eyes
I have a thousand things to say
but a word from you would suffice
I weep and I write
but I always Wonder
if you still think of that night
Frequent & repeated lines of questioning,
not limited to frequent and repeated running,
how wyd one do in the dog days should so futile an expense be paid.
though not often enough
entirely too often,)
repeated the sayings of the elderly,
but I say,
collapse into the whole of everything else.
Run not in the ablative sense,
The Dog Days are days in the truest meaning,
Don't Hold Me To That!!!
for this will pass,
as will those and that.
That rustling will never cease
and should it,
I fear the worst.
From this cries a home
for want of all.
Take this, Take me, whole, unbroken, beyond dog days and frequent and repeated sayings & questions. Take me home.
breed unconditional hate for yourself
'til you feel chronically sick
contribute to the disbelief in yourself
because your skull will always be thick
drag a needle across the crease of your tongue
so you no longer speak like a fool
promiscuously strut across educational halls
for it is the looks that make you cool
associate with numbing necessities
in the attempt to open your mind
even when you sink into a sedative state
your demons still remain confined
i know since you lack your lust for wisdom
you feel more than out of place
realize your potential lies in the cosmetics
sinking deep beneath your face