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Britni Ann Feb 2018
What is this i feel?
                            A sense to speak,
             A need to say something.
                                                     Yet the words,
      They fail me.
                  Yet the feelings,
                                     They go away.
                                                   I sit in words i cannot say aloud,
In the void of nothing.
          I feel nothing.

I.
                                                    ­       Am nothing.

                Mirrors are bullies,
                           Fathers are abusers,
Toilets are comforters,
                                                     ­    Yet I still feel nothing.
         Yet I cannot find the words…
                        to express the nothing I feel.
Why?
                                                      ­     Why do I hurt?

               No one understands,
                                     I don't understand.
    I am an empty well.

         Why do I continue to swallow pills to make me sick?
                              He tells me I am beautiful…

                              She tells me I am not fat.

   How come I roll?
                                                          How come I don't fit in like they do?

                                                  Why do continue to write him letters?

                           How come he hasn't showed up in seven years?

    How come no matter how many times I tell him

                                                            ­                      I forgive his abuse
                I still get angry
                                               And want to die?
  Why do I want
                 What everyone seems to be so afraid of?
                                                             ­         Death
So sweet
                                       Asleep forever.
                                                                ­  In a place where I don't have to
                Feel
                                            The
Nothing
                                                                ­ That
                         I am.
the words are scattered like thoughts often are.
  Feb 2018 Britni Ann
Ashton
Hello all my wonderful friends and talented poets, I am seeking advice on the following poem. I find it challenging to edit. Thank you all, for your help in advance.


Lost, and no one is searching.
Not for me,
                   definitely not,
I'm just an "Orphan", and so you seem to see.

I'm scared of the upcoming events.
I'm at a loss for words that are heavy—lead...
Leaflet
of page flips,
a collection of what I can't prevent.
I, it's my expense.
~
I, I bend until I break because of things like this.
No one gets it,
No one will ever get this.
People I live with,
Say that I just need to "believe in myself, and be positive",
Again,
They don't get it.

I just write a lot; I just write...
I have a lot on my mind.
I hate the idea of moving.

The sight,
of a suitcase makes me go blind.

I wish I could spill my eyes
~ like ink ~
There are words I need to write, words have become a monster in my life, crawling up my spine, like waves, ebb, and flow - walls of wakes. I'm drowning in this lake, the weight pressed against me—the cracked skull, and my peeling
mind,
Nothing feels right,
they're all I can think
~ of, words, words enough to make me sink.
Into my hollow chest deep,
and empty.
But inside
my lungs find
a return together, and my diaphragm
fighting—like the closing mouth of a dying-clam.

So far away,
To a University
and Dorm-room stay,
I'm quite a fog, no definition-no importance—I fade
In the grey.
I fade away, every **** day.
Take it all away?
Silly me...
"No, stop being negative", they will say.

It feels like another Foster home,
I just want to go,
disappear - collapse into the undergrowth.
But inside I've never been so low.
Famished, insatiable, and ravenous, the beast still grows.
Chewing through what I've created for you,
To -
Just cut my tongue, and slice my toes
trying to hold.
On to the walls as they slip from my fingertips,
I fold.
Into my brain - filled with holes.
Into myself, a mystery—a candle melting without a flame, a game, that gets dull, and so old.
I've lost again, on this, I've been,
'Ashton' without
a doubt,
My words, I know -
My words know,
no woe.
Losing your interest, I'm only a muddled groan.
A man who is such a child, has to find a way to become grown.

I've no certainty,
Certainly, I cannot keep...
What I cannot see,
I cannot see where I'll be,
Who'll stay? Nobody?
Who would want to stay in my life?
No one needs to say that I,
have become a joke,
and as I choke, I know,
I'm not funny...
~
Nobody?
Not even me.

Hey,
I guess it's okay?
They don't stay.
It's always been the same.
My mind's leaving me.
Nothing will ever change.
All my life, I've been drifting, deranged. Slowly, I fear that I may
never find a refrain ~
That I'll love to be in this state
of mind, so insane.
—They never really did, and slowly,
Through my fingers, they...
Slipped.
Away.
From me,
and my weak grip, white knuckles behind the bleed.
- I wouldn't lie, I tried -
everything...
but it was my weakness that gripped
so I slipped'
like they did.

I guess,
I'm just going to have to get used to this.

I swear, I've been,
Lost, now I'm even more lost when
...I'm searching.
I'm looking
From outside of myself—in.

My ribs open,
I'm an open book, but now, I'm a loose-leaf—dropped with a pen,
~
I, to not be picked up again.

My skin is paper thin,
Go ahead take a look right in?

See what's really inside of me?
That my heart is just too big, to bear its own beat.
Maybe -
Maybe - my wounds will bring you to me?

I have so much love to give,
I cannot keep it contained within.

My heart is exploding,
and I know it...
This life is no longer mine to live.

Why do I feel like this?
Everything is going great, it is.
Yet something is amiss,
I'm reckless, I try, and end up defective.

I feel like I am obsolete.
           and when I fall asleep,
                           I don't even want to dream.
Thinking about more than I can think.
I've been getting better at buying,
The lies between
the pages of a book without a spine - me,
getting better at hiding
that I, I'm just, weak,
I'm obsolete.
Hung up by the seams,
~
A nail in the wall holding me.
A puppet without strings,
The nail has a name, 'PTSD'.
Hang me in the hall,
Watch me drop down, and fall
~
On my face in the heat,
Watch my colors-fade-to-grey
as they blend in the bleed.

A painting of melting color, that drips, and drips,
No worth, I'm worthless...

I'm just that foster kid from the streets.
The one that no one needs,
I don't want to be,
Believe me,
I woke up, and don't want to be me,
I just want to be free.

By: Ash
Britni Ann Jan 2018
you
“I’ll see you in six months. I promise.”

Well, it's been 7 years.
Britni Ann Jan 2018
My soul aches for a time when you will apologize.
You are a poem I have written over and over.
I want to stop writing about ghosts and shadows.

I want to write about the sun,
I want to write something you will sob over.
I want you to ache as much as I have.
I want you to write me down as something beautiful,
as your biggest regret.

I want to take it,
I want to mass produce it,
I want to hang it on the fridge,
I want to tattoo it on my face,
I want to make you realize that narcissists are nothing but slugs,
and you, were the king.
Britni Ann Jan 2018
i grew up thinking of you as a ghost,
you were always there, yet you weren't.
you haunted me in the night when i missed you the most.
and in the day you turned into a shadow lurking about,
only twice did you actually show yourself.
you told me you would stop haunting me and just be there for me.
that you would stop being a shadow that followed me
and you would turn into a leader.
but then you told me it was too much.
i wasn't doing enough to keep you in the light.
you told me the light hurt.
you disappeared back into the shadows.
but you took something of mine when you left.
you took away some of my light and destroyed it.
then i became less light, less human
and more of a ghostly shadow.
Britni Ann Jan 2018
"Someday, I'll be treated like a grown-up."
"Someday, we'll be married."
"Someday, I'll finally have it all."
But, what is this "Someday" everybody talks about?
Longs for?
Waits and prays for?
Does "Someday" even exist?
Why not live for now?
Live for today, not someday.
Maybe to human race just made it up to give themselves hope.
And a goal... Something to live for.
But what happens if "Someday" really comes?
What will happen after that?
What's next?
Has any person lived long enough to tell the tale of this "Someday"?
And if anyone has, will they be so kind as to tell me when?
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