I'm frequently told to
'Stop and smell the roses'-
I have hay fever.
Also, I were to stop, I would no longer be moving so
My mind has more time to fill itself up with the little thoughts,
The ones I'm walking the streets to forget.
Rose is one of my favourite scents but
Every time I try to take it in
My cheeks swell and my eyes water;
I'll just stick to being a walker.
I wasn't aware of this, but the nose must play an important role
In the improvement of mental health because
I am also told to
'Wake up and smell the coffee'-
I don't want to wake up, though I will,
And I can't get out of bed, so,
Could you just bring me a coffee?
It might inspire me.
Within the cover of night I am sitting;
-Doing anything other than sleeping-
In bed thinking about what if somebody told me to
'Wake up and smell the roses',
I'd take that as an order to kill myself.
Surely it's a death sentence
To do a combination of the two
Which I have already explained that I cannot,
Today, I did attempt to smell those roses,
And I bought myself a latte,too,
But all I could taste and smell was ash,
Which made me panic
Because it felt like I was burning alive and
I liked that-
Now I understand that cigarette smoke can sometimes be so potent, that it
Drowns the soul.
Tobacco is a substance of which, however, I feel I can relate to:
Labelled (with a warning);
Used by many and
Set alight by a temporary flame;
Used up in a puff of smoke.
I've only ever had my lips around a cigarette end,
I often wonder what it would be like with a cock, I digress;
Perhaps sex could get me out of bed?
Maybe I'll just read a book.
Clouds of thought
Gripping tight the skin of my throat
Thick clouds of whisping anxiety and panic;
Upon which I choke!
Smoke of insanity
Of eyes shifting in a sandstorm around the room, always. Forever.
I stumble. I choke.
The taste of blood from obsessive consistency becomes momentarily, forever.
The hatred I feel for my experience is forever, momentarily.
Clouds of panic grip my mind.
Clouds of anxiety gag my throat.
Clouds of obsession rob my time.
Clouds of sorrow kill me slowly.
Upon clouds, I choke.
My fingers itch
My palms sweat
And slides down
My legs twitch
As your hands hover
Over my love handles
And I clench my hands
My stomach stays still
Empty from the epitome of
Butterflies that should
Instead my brain urges
Maybe the nagging numbness that never
Negotiates will navigate somewhere else
Maybe I might feel funny, fantastic,
Your hands trace circles
On my breasts bringing a trail
Of goose bumps
Yet I feel nothing
The numbness never seems
Anxiety is a monster
Inside my mind
Its claws scrape my skin.
It tongue traces my
Clock and rewinds
Its red eyes glow
When I grin
Makes me wonder
Who I am?
When it’s angry
I aspire to change
My body vibrates
Like a crashing wave.
Nip and pick
My head spins
My hands are in my hair
Pulling from the stems.
Anxiety you are a beast
You live inside me
Burrowing deep enough that
You are a part of me
You are the roots and I am the tree.
My eyes are closed
My snores take up the air
Your hand slides up my
Thigh and your fingers
Run through my hair
My eyes stay shut
And your hands roam
My cries stay silent
As you are in my room
Your hands venture deeper
Than any had gone
My eyes watered and
I tried to yawn
My cry turned to a sob
As I realized I could not
Tell my mom
As I looked in the mirror
That next day
I realized bad things
Seemed to always come my way
My eyes welled with tears
And I pulled out my hair
Screaming but still
Knowing no one
right now I might be a broken-hearted soul that has forgotten how to use her wings, but trust me, I'll work harder on myself and I'll arise in a beauty you've never seen before. you'll see my eyes sparkle, you'll see how my laughter fills this world with happiness, and most importantly you'll see my soul glowing.
I'll attract all the good things in life, and my soul will be so bright that darkness won't even try to come at her. I'll rise in colors you'll be jealous of. watch me.
Is a construct,
Out of a fairytale.
She sounds wonderful,
Charasmatic to boot.
So, why did she leave?
In this shell of a body,
This mask of a face,
And a voice so disjointed.
Out of place
Out of time
Out of memory
Out of love
Out of comfort
Out of hope
Look at all the old photographs,
No one could ever be so happy.
Burn to feel warm
But to no avail.
An unreachable host
Look in the mirror
You hear the knock at the door
and your breath goes silent
everything is still and you can feel your heart in your chest
your breathing, soft,
an unruly curl you have brushed and yanked and mangled into submission
lies to him
and pretends your heart isn’t about to rip a hole through your chest
and that your hands aren’t shaking with the threat
of another person in your safe space
another person in the place you have finally carved out
a space in which to feel soft
and without apologies
you pretend you aren’t about to fall apart
and you step up
out of your home
and into your house
and you open the door
I am a waste.
I am a waste of space, of air, of life.
I am a waste.
I am wasting away in this darkness of memories that I can’t seem to let go.
I am a waste.
How do I rid myself of pain that strings along the chords of my heart,
Playing it as if an instrument.
How do people make sense of the waste?
How do they learn to appreciate how their mind was meddled with and how their heart gave and gave only to be unappreciated?
I am a waste,
And I still cannot figure out how to make something out of nothing
I am still figuring out who I want to be and where I want to go and all I can seem to think of is you.
What do you do to people who are wasting away?
Do you suck the breath out of their lungs leaving them to slowly decay and turn to dust?
Or do you hug them tight and tell them everything will be okay even though all you’ll leave behind is a mess?
I can’t put my pieces back together again.
Sometimes it’s hard getting out of bed and I call you,
Yet you never pick up.
Sometimes I long to jump off of bridges and land into the arms of comfort...yet I never have the courage
Because giving myself to you or to life means commitment and I’ve never known anyone to be committed to me.
Sometimes the waste pulls me in and I drown in a sea of my mistakes; the ones people constantly remind me of, and it seems easier to let the water fill my lungs and sink than fight against the tides.
I am a waste,
Yet I’m still figuring out how to be more.
How to evolve and progress and become
To simply become something more
To want more
To experience and live more
To have said a waste but I certainly am not.
I have been put on this earth for a purpose, and I’m on an adventure of figuring out what my reason is.