I preferred apathy
A quiet release
Of tension in my shoulders

I chose kindness
Accepting the guilt
It inevitably comes with

I mixed and matched
My mind, my soul, my heart
In a flurry of greys

I basked, unbothered
In a meaninglessness
Of my own creation

Take a step forward
The air is cold
And the grass soft to touch

I used to think that ****** was the same as *****,
And therefore I was both broken and unclean.
I have learned that you can wash the blood off
And cast out the stains of yesterday’s misfortunes
That I may kneel before you and tell you
That I am still sacred in my own skin.

It came for me again
With teeth and claws
That sunk into my flesh
With ruby red eyes that loomed in the darkness,
Mocking me as I struggled to sleep.
I was a spectator
As my mood disintegrated in front of me,
Giving way for the heavy enormity of depression
And the burning itch of restlessness
That took up residence in the wounds Bipolar tore across my mind.
It came for me again,
And I, as always,
Was left to fight it in a weary body,
Clinging to contraband hope
That the consequences would not be permanent this time.
It came for me again,
But I am still alive.

“Everything you ever wanted
Is on the other side of FEAR”
George Addais

you see fear
I see fun

you sense dread
I sense opportunity

you feel loss
I feel recovery

you hate
I love

you believe in the bad
I believe in the good

you think the end
I think the beginning

you touch sorrow
I touch enlightenment

you hear pain
I hear healing

your glass half empty
my glass half full

your life hard
mine a life of ease

your life
my life

Andreas Simic©

What do you want from me?
I ask my memories,
Wondering why they’ve come out to play,
Tap dancing across the wood floors of me mind,
Creating a cacophony that echoes off my skull.
What do you want from me?
I hear them when they respond, “We’re trying to make you safe.”
I know they’re attempting to prevent tumbling off the same rocks,
Trying to ensure I don’t crack bones on the same hard places.
They are telling me to avoid having pieces of me stolen again.
I couldn’t protect myself at thirteen or sixteen,
So I stumbled down the same dark alleys until I was 18
And paid a grander price in an even darker cave at 19.
I’m 22 now, and I’m still picking up the pieces out of the mouths of men,
Men who cut me down until I was a conglomerate of bite size, fuckable pieces.
I was taught not to scream when my pieces were being consumed.
Who needs to be a whole human anyway?
If tip money went into my pocket,
If he told me he loved me afterwards,
If I was alive to see the morning light,
Who was I to complain?  
And when I stopped wanting to see the sun rise,
They gazed upon my pieces
And berated me for the wreckage.
What do you want from me?
Is a question I only know how to ask myself.
I have never dared ask those who stole from me
Whether they came to me in good faith,
Never had the wisdom to lock up what was valuable.
I have never demanded of anyone what their intentions were,
So I ask again: What do you want from me?
What am I expected to provide?
Am I allowed to be a whole human here?
Or will you require I be bite size again?
I am desperate to be safe in the same flesh that once enticed those who hunted me.
What do you want from me?
I’ll tell you what I want.
I want to go home whole,
Knowing my skin is all mine.