I spot the small things
The giraffe balloon
Floating by the window
of my bedroom
Where I brood on the day

I spot the small things
The souped up ride
Tearing past the street
The go faster stripes
breaking my concentration

I spot the small things
The washer of hotels
cleaning the distant windows
along the parallels
As I struggle to work

I spot the small things
The dead pixel on screen
Making the image
slightly unseen
On your update feed

I spot the small things
The name on your message
With a heart on the end
That day was a lesson
Not to blindly trust

I spot the small things
The couple in the corner
Kissing away secretly
I slowly mourn her
You're truly not mine

I spot the small things
The robin on the wall
Serving to remind
To be above it all
and be more than I am

I've been working on this one for a while, had the idea of how I seem to spot things in fleeting moments and wanted to tie in a story around it of a person's debating their suspicions of their lover. Think it works.

I let doubt poison my hopes
Until their death certificates were signed
The same place that grants wishes
Can also take them away:
The Mind.

it's my own fault

There is evil in the air
I can feel it coursing through my hair
It’s getter darker really fast
The clouds inflate over me, casting shadows vast
Running through puddles, trying not to slip
I stiffen my feet into a tight grip
I glide through the rain
The moon starts to wane
I amble around obstacles that slow me down
The rain makes a deafening sound
In the silence of the moment
Just beyond my ken
It’s right behind me, but I dare not look,
Leaves fall down, but the trees never shook.

another poem from when I was 12.
Me Díaz Jul 14

The first time it happened I was three
I knew not what it meant then
My uncle, an Adam, balls bare
Crouched under the shower
Exploring parts of me
I knew not yet how to name

I was only three so
He thought my memory'd fade
And his sins would be expunged
And I never told mom
We were on vacation, you see?
And anyway, how could I?

But I did tell you, my dear ex-wife.

I later tried it
with the all too eager boy next door
Behind the church
But I wasn't sure if I liked it then

The second time it happened I was six
And she was my cousin
And in bathing away the day's play
Her fingers "slipped" deep in that place
And it made me laugh 'cause it tickled
So she did it again
'Till mom knocked and said it was time for bed

I never told anyone
And she thinks my memory gone
But later that night, she showed me hers
And said it'd tickle her too if I touched
So I did

I never even told you, my dear ex-wife
I never touched a woman like that again
'Till my teens

But in fourth grade Damian asked for a
hand-job under our shared desk
While Mrs. C.  spoke of the nation's heroes
And the one that wrapped the flag
around  his body as he was shot down
off the Chapultepec Castle's tower
Sixteen year-olds protecting the military school  from The Americans
Or was it the French?

I never told anyone about this either
I never even told you, my dear ex-wife

I don't know if any of this means anything.
But I know that sometimes I get flashbacks
When a sex scene comes on screen
Or when friends or family kiss and
are affectionate with their partners
And I get a little nauseous
and I feel uncomfortable

Sometimes I freeze when I'm touched
And everyone laughs
and they say I'm a "bad huger"
But I don't know how to explain being touched feels wrong and I feel filthy and my skin burns

But how can I say that?
When at the same time I'm overtly sexual
And everyone says I'm just a pig
And I do believe it
But I also freeze when the touch is not consensual
And I can't muster the strength to defend myself

How do I explain that my body feels dirty?
How do I explain that I can't look at my
body in a mirror?
And that I'm barely beginning to be able
to even look at my facial reflection without shame.

But you left before I was ready to tell you any of these things,
my dear ex-wife.
You left before I could tell you
that you made me feel safe enough to want to do so.

The third time it happened I was drunk
And I was passed out and out of my senses
The third time it happened was only  
a few months ago and I had just turned thirty-two
The third time it happened my friends
Made me feel like I had no right to feel abused
Because I was drunk and I am a "whore"
And "that was your decision."

The third time it happened, my dear ex-wife
I realized I was ready to tell you everything
Because you always made me feel safe and I need to feel safe
But you're not here
And I don't know what this means anymore
And I don't feel safe
And I feel paranoid
And I feel judged
And I really don't know what this means,
But I wish you were here.

This was really hard to write, and I'm only writing it for healing purposes and I may erase it right away. But it feels good to get these things off my chest.
Alec Jul 14

Let us smile for it is a joyous day!!
One to be proud of,
One that states hey!
One from beginning to end
Was filled with good friends.
Cheers and laughter!
Love and hope.
One with no worry!
But is it a hoax?
Does the truth hide behind some sort of a veil?
Or is it there in the open,
Making us pale.
Do we figure it out...
Or pretend we don't doubt?

I go about my mornings
covered in the fog of my paranoia
drenched in the rain of my worries
enveloped in the snow of my bitter cold thoughts.
(strained by the sun
aching for the moon)
Contemplating staying put and doing nothing at all
(That sounds good to me)
I pick up my morning coffee
(Old habits don't die without a fight, I’ve grown to know)
I’m fine for a few hours
The fog slowly dissipates
The putrid smell of rain still lingers on my skin
The snow melting into a warm dampness in my mind
(an uncomfortably familiar feeling)
sticking to the hard to reach surfaces.
My day drudges forward, with ease.
(not for long)
By noon time the fog circles back
I’m instantly freezing.
The sun is playing tricks on me
telling my body I’m in imminent danger.
She hides away beyond the fog, like a coward
taking no prisoners.
silently applauding herself for she, again, successfully,
burns me.
By mid-day she's on a rampage
forcing me back into the storm,
I’m drowned out by the rain
(I fear him most of all)
(he reminds me of nothing but my deepest fears)
They capture me and hold me tight.
I’m stuck.
By evening time
I try to level with her.
I’m choking on the thick fog. It’s taking over.
I’m shaking now.
(I can’t breath, I’m going to die)
I start to calm down, with no warning.
All of a sudden, the air enters my lungs again.
The sun, still kind, in her light, asks for forgiveness.
I grant her none.
The moon suddenly rears her beautiful head.
“Darling” she caresses my cheeks.
I instantly ease into the touch.
Able to breath, with the sun out of sight,
I take myself in.
I’m broken, tormented, tired, lost, but alive.
(by night fall I am at ease with my inconsolable world.)
I decide to sleep it off.

I feel my memory slipping away
In and out
A phantom in my mind
Misinterpreted by my paranoia
Engulfed in my clouds of depression
Exaggerated by my anxiety
Repressed by the constant fear of never remembering anything
While making new memories each day
Knowing I may not remember it by next month
or next week
or tomorrow
But I make them anyway

I'm cognizant of my ability to be here
In a certain place and time. For a specific reason.
I'm aware it is happening, while I know it also may fade.
I reason with myself with what I need to try my hardest to remember or not.
They all seem dull in hindsight, with a few bright lights here and there.
It will get worse with time and medication.
I can't do much else but try. And write. And re-read the memories I either remember or forgot having in whatever mindset I was in at the time.
Euphoric, depressed, aware, irrational, whatever.

Needs more editing and it is choppy but it's my first on here so here goes nothing.
Arcassin B Jun 17

By Arcassin Burnham

You're pulling your punches if you think life's impermanence
won't catch up..
paranoia on 100% every time , your thinking you're gonna get
shot or cut..

Not safe anywhere , your so old school, you don't get the motto..
I was thinking more about what i used to be in this country then
i ran out of ammo..

didn't have anything left to fight with at one time,
somewhere in my life,
you were a waste of time,
in all of the bad times,

i didn't think that i would make it far in this condition,
i'm just so surprised,
there isn't enough time,
enough time to waste my time,

Sacrifices being made , and i always had to listen what people say..
Kids are mean and family don't really care about you , they just
want you to pay..

Surreal feeling , so subside,
i can not wonder,
level-headed thoughts in people heads for summer,
Feeling sorry for myself,
i take the pain off,
wishing i could feel her touch that she claims is soft,
Surreal feeling , so subside,
i can not wonder,
level-headed thoughts in people heads for summer,
Feeling sorry for myself,
they don't care about your dreams,
they don't care about your health,

didn't have anything left to fight with at one time,
somewhere in my life,
you were a waste of time,
in all of the bad times,

i didn't think that i would make it far in this condition,
i'm just so surprised,
there isn't enough time,
enough time to waste my time.

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