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you stole the song off my breath,
you stole the sweet off my smile,
i'll hit this blunt until there's nothing left
and stay hollow here a while,
and there's nothing left
between the forest and the fire,
so i'll watch it all burn down
and just pray the flames grown higher.

do you think that they remember me?
the girl with doll eyes who gave into them endlessly
and covered up their lies.
i was a child,
too small to reach, yet still to big to cry.
sometimes the lesson doesn't teach,
sometimes the phoenix doesn't rise,

and the ash remembers me
as the one who got away.
i try not to think too much,
and there's just not much to say,
and if the sky were to fall down,
how much would it weigh?
on my shoulders, getting older,
but as young as i was that day.

for now, i'll just get high,
stare into the wall,
sink into this place where
there's nothing left at all.
time moves faster every day,
and still i feel so small,
trapped inside this place where
there's nothing here at all.
sometimes i wonder when i cry, does god listen
but maybe i should quit crying
go back to rutland, where we all suffer
where we all ache bullet wounds
named after our mother
where we all love snow and
it often rains
so when the sun does come
it's a subtle pain
warmth unfamiliar
unaccustomed to change,
unprotected from the elements,
we are all one in the same-
the sisters and brothers
from the other side of the tracks
who got unlucky and missed the train.

sometimes i think god just went blind
or maybe he forgot our names
but at least we take cover in
the trauma of one another,
our broken bones
and broken veins

sometimes i wonder when we cry, does god listen
if we can ever heal in the arms of each other
if we shattered the sky could we
stop the rain
Spent the last few years
Living in disarray,

Always chasing safety,
Hoping I'd make it someday.

But safety only
Goes so far,

When I'm always
Going to war
With myself

And all I leave are

Stuck in a dreamscape
Battlefield that makes it
Hard to go to sleep.

Post-traumatic stress
And nightmares eating me
For days,

I just want to scream
And disappear for days.

Some days, I wonder,
Is there an end to
This storm?

Is there a better way to cope
Or will I have to suffer
A little more?
I was raised in my father’s ill-timed
           old ways: as a man saying how he feels,
           was like ash in his ashtray. And I had
           smoked up a few reasons of not finding
           certainty; but instead finding answers in
           all addictions as a troubled youth.

I remember looking for a quick fix,
          like a constant broken clock—
         without a lot of time.
         As it felt better not to admit to why I
         was crying secretly at night, and instead
         going around faking all of my smiles.

As I never once felt like I could fit an
        ounce of myself in my family, and
        sometimes the thought of being a
        mistake would be a thought I’d accept
        so gladly.
“I’ve been a fool, I’ve been a ******,
           I’ve been an idiot, I’ve been a coward,
           and I’ve been less than a good friend,
           Feeling less of myself most times, in
           saying I don’t amount to anything”—
           were all of the things plaguing my head.

I’ve been so sick of love,
          pretending to have known it as much
          And to my luck, I’ve been unlucky enough
          to know the way I lived felt like a vortex,
         cos it always ******.

Sprung out on how I forced my appearance,
        sitting on bottled emotions, ignoring
        how I’m really feeling— all thought
        to show a man in their great zealous.
        Such a lie it was; and a door to the
        knowledge of depression, that I tried to
        hide so well, with years of experience.

Cause I was taught,
          “real men don’t show their feelings”
           Still what are these feelings, I’m feeling?

Feeling sad, depressed, a mess,
          who can’t confess that sometimes
          he's a mess and not always at his best.
          Still, self-perfection isn’t what the
          whole world expects. And unless this
          boy chooses not to digress from tackling
          the feelings that have him compressed; that
          boy will only be a boy who still sits in their
          mother’s nest.

Cos no bird will truly soar where it rests—
          so would I; never be a man in this crazy
          world, by just covering up all of my sores
          in my heart with a bulletproof vest. I
          already swallowed up those bullets; choking
          up on all of the words of, not saying
          what’s beating at my chest.

Today, today marks the day,
          I threw out that **** ashtray.
         Cos the ash in that tray, made me feel
         like, the *** of the day. And I refuse to
        do the donkey-work, of pretending that
         I’m always okay.

        No, I'm not okay, because I’ve spent
        my life being burnt by the scorching
        ash, in that old ashtray.

                          It’s time for healing.
Her 4d
the nightmares keep
me up at night
almost every night
in March

i get to relive
the trauma
over and over
that month

i awake feeling
my chest tight
stomach turning

my mind focused
on that first night
why it all happened
what did i do wrong

i was just a child
i remind myself
as i *****

i hope one day
i like March again
like i did
when i was 6 years old
'k Zie u daar nog liggen
in uw doodsbed
Uw laatste woorden ben'k vergeten
en gij zijt blijven leven

Maar 'k zie u daar nog liggen
een schaduw van de vader die ik kende
En gij zijt blijven leven
maar de schaduw is gebleven

'k Zie u daar nog liggen
met ogen die het einde zien
en handen die *** grip verliezen

En gij zijt blijven leven
maar 'k zie u daar nog liggen
in uw doodsbed
Begging for mercy from a cruel false god
As the years go by, I’ve seen through the facade
But I’m still chained by desperation and fear
And the false hope that you’ll be sincere
And the pleasure you take in my pain will disappear
But it won’t
You don't want to change
You never will
So it will be my blood and tears you continue to spill
Consume me body and soul
Whenever you are hungry for a little power and control
Whenever the world is too much for you
You take it out on daddy’s favorite punching bag

Mother is on the stairs
But she might as well not be there
For she doesn’t interfere
Not even when he fists curl up
Not when there are tears
She watches with quiet scripted interjections
As she watches this towering god looming over me tear me apart
No apologies no remorse
Just me with ****** hands picking up the broken fragments of myself off the floor
I don’t want to be here anymore

And after the damage is done
She provides false comfort
Then angrily scolds me
“You know better than that”
“Why did you say that”
“Why didn’t you say that”
As if the looming tsunami would ever take mercy on me
So I cower in my room licking my wounds forever alone
For there is no one else’s hands to hold
No one's arms to surrender to
Just grief
And a false hope that one day,
I will be free

But even when far far away
Those cruel feelings and fears remain
For now they are woven into my DNA
Jade Apr 3
You can take the girl
out of the traumatic environment.

But you can’t take
the trauma out of the girl.
Bea Mar 28
Will the ghost of you

Haunt me if I cannot let you go

After you leave me
From one night,
To daylight,
My mind in a haze.
My body in a daze,
My soul full of shame.
As not one moment,
Can I live in present.

For past,
Is where I stay.
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