Chelsey 12h

Why am I so angry??
I can only cling to what's left of my sanity...
I'm barley holding on...
I tried Lord...
I tried...
I tried to love someone.
I tried to trust someone..
I did...
I tried to look past all the bad..
I tried..
I tried to forgive him Lord...
I did...
I tried to bring sunlight into his life..
I thought I was his sunlight...
I believed I was it...
if only temporarily...
I believed it...
I cant help but wonder why I deserve to suffer as much as I am but...
Forgive me..  
I'm sorry for not being perfect.
I'm sorry...
I'm sorry I wasen't enough for him...
I'm sorry...
I'm sorry I couldn't be his sunlight...
And I'm sorry I couldnt handle the pain he caused me..

I know you hate divorce...
But look into my heart...
Tell me what you see...
He doesn't care anymore..
See that I loved him as best as I possibly could, and even though it wasen't good enough for him... Remind him someday that he once was utterly deeply loved...
And that it was real.

Lord, I think....
I've suffered enough...
Forgive me....
Please, Ease my suffering...
and forgive him..
Help me to forgive him...
And the cold hearted man he's become.
I refuse to believe this is who he really is...
And I choose to believe one day he will realize his ways and try as I have and he'll come seek you.
But Lord please forgive me...
I tried...

The highest of societies,
Have their paupers,
And Peasants,  
As well as Princes,
And Queens
Showing always,
The duality of mankind.

Sometimes they intrude accompanied by waves of terror.
Most times, though, they prance in unashamed as if they were an old friend, thought to be always welcome.
What they do not realize is that I desire to leave them behind, like whispers lost in the wind.

"They" are those thoughts of death that visit me in all hours.
They have no boundaries.
They rustle through my thoughts while I deliver baked goods to neighbors.
They pester me as I laugh - really laugh - with loved ones.
They are a familiar companion during those cold drives in the rain.
They prompt me to think of the notes I might write for friends if I leave.
They make sure they are never forgotten, especially when I think I'm ready to move on.

They are
a familiar poison
a seemingly eternal toxicity
an incurable disease
a malignant influence
and so many other things.

As much as I call them these things, though, there is one thing that I can never deny - that is:
"They" are familiar and familiar things are not forgotten.

A thousand eyes but
Nobody sees
A single face
That silently pleads
Quietly asking
With muffled cries
For someone to save her
Dry her tearstained eyes

Thousands of people but
She’s all alone
Completely unknown
With dirty hands
And calloused feet
Begging of strangers
Who’s eyes won’t meet

A thousand voices
A single plea
Unsteady legs
And blistered feet
Her shallow stomach
Has her doubled in pain
She finds some cardboard
To shelter from the rain

A thousand questions
Nobody hears
She sits alone
A slave to her fears
Her eyes close
Still broken and lost
She’ll sleep the night
But wonder at the cost

A thousand people
Walk down this street
Somebody sees her
She feels their eyes meet
How does it end?
Does she get what she needs?
You are who sees her
So you tell me

My goal with this poem was to shed light on basically everyone out there who's hurting or in a rough place. There's a lot of poverty and brokenness and depression and things out there and every single day we see it and there's so much we can do about it. Not necessarily in the huge ways we see on TV or hear about around school, but a smile goes a long way. Someone who's hungry and shunned would appreciate any kind gesture; food, a conversation, anything at all. The tiniest things we do can save a life. Remember that for me.

food tastes better when nothing had to die for it,
cry for it, lose its precious life for it.

your burger tastes like murder
your bacon like lives that were taken, shaken, foresaken.

you dig your polished fork into pork as you talk
about how the oceans are shrinking, sinking, wishful thinking.

you serve fish on a gleaming dish as you wish
that numbers of whales, eels, sharks and seals were not dwindling.

you spend time crying for the polar bears dying
as your bacon is frying, and it isn’t the only thing.

you gorge on tender beef although you aren’t the thief
that stole it’s very life from it.

you chit chat about mass extinction and animals dire fate
whilst the crux of the problem sits on your plate.

A corporeal form,
In this coldest reality,
Humanities pride,
It's hubris,
Shall always be,
Man's downfall.

I hung pictures on the wall
The faces frowned at me
not because I hung them
by their frames
But because I nailed them there

-I regret it sometimes

You can't take a piece of me
a part of me
under your detriment and your touch

You shouldn't touch me when
I am in self-destruct

But I can't blame you
for stealing what was part

of  shattered pieces
of an unglued heart.

-because a broken hart no longer matters

Brings up the hole in my dreams, white dressed mannequin overlaid with sequins,
her dress form baring my hide, skinny legs in skinny jeans, faced with her blue eyes. 

This constant storm of thick regret, plays aching words through my stiffened threads. I am startled by the tinge of when he picks at my strings, his fingers cueing up my grief, I'm
transfixed by such staunch memories.

From this September thru December all that is anxious wrecks this time, blending stages of unconsciousness with the right to bide these rhythmic tidings outlined by the rigor of her whines. Bent by the rocking of the sea and the buried screams beneath, herein these mouths are tanned from where these voices once laid command.

Subtly superior, yet haunting in its serenity and clause, the metal stretched across her jaw, and while the dove is drugged, she cannot bestow her love, she is betrayed thru the very lens that halted life's immenseness and intent. Draped in her hospital gown, even her crown forgone, her gurney replaced her throne, no more royalty will she ever know.

Soma sudor, spit begrimed at ends, tiffs being had with friends, he takes away the organs, sends me back to consciousness with the bends. Every lock of hair I wanted, every piece of night I held, all my organs have been dismembered, all the luck I had is lost. In the corner of my iris there's a prime instance of despair, something left on a scrap of paper, though I could swear it looked like underwear. When the locusts fill this mind with every cadence indisposed, then they flourish on my body, leaving once they've eaten off my clothes. 

Hours were my pajamas, where I slept once, now I lie. I'm the afterthought of courage, even in this heady nausea I once found sublime. Here this corpse doesn't leave a shadow, missing time where love bid supine. Even the wind it curdles in me, where no heart beats from this life.

With a child inside this bullet, art existed on her face, twice it eradicated lying, but not the murder debt betrayed. Simple sin on the interstices, connected by the dots where pleasure writhes. All my hands are covered by this fever, where my mind has gone to die.

If only words could reach down
below the skin, I could be the one you hear.

But of course, you can't hear anything
when I'm covering your ears.

-I love potatoes
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