"consquences" poems
This morning I woke up with my hand hurting again.
I wake up most mornings with an ache of some sort,
whether it be physically or emotionally.
I thought, not for the first time, about how
I'm too young for this.
See, I was born into this life with a prescription for
pills written into my ribs.
I've been popping them since before I knew what
they meant, or how they destroy my body.
I haven't always been this achey, but I have always
had something wrong with me.
Anxiety stole my childhood, left me running for the
glowing exit sign that is the end of my life.
And I'm not saying I didn't have a good childhood,
but I grew up fearing that toothpaste would **** me
if I accidentally swallowed too much of it.
I still reap the consquences of anxiety to this day.
I grew up with knee problems and anxiety,
grew into depression and now I have to take pills
just to feel normal again.
And sometimes it doesn't work.
See, some days I feel like a regular kid.
I wake up, go to school, come back to family where
I don't have to wonder if they love me or not.
On these days I feel like I can accomplish anything.
I feel like the world is in my hands and all I have to do
is try.
Other days I'm a walking suicide note.
My bed is quick sand, drawing me further and further
into the black that I can't find my way out of.
There's a tornado sending my thoughts into a spiral
and I'm too dizzy to fix this.
When you're this sad, there is no such thing as a
"minor inconvenience."
Everything that stands in the way, small as it may be,
is another reason on my ever growing list of why
I shouldn't be here.
I stayed up until 6 o'clock this morning wondering
why I haven't signed my name on the goodbye note yet.
I didn't reach out to anyone but I still cried when no
one noticed how broken I am.
But why would anyone notice in the first place?
Why would anyone care?
This morning I woke up with my hand hurting again.
As I was taking my daily pills, I wondered, not for the
first time,
If I took enough pain pills, would it cure my aching
soul, too?
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 9:33 PM UTC
I want freedom
I want the freedom to choose
make choices without superficial consquences
leap in a cage with no bars created by unjustified morals
open my ears something I was never quite allowed to hear
I want the freedom to feel
the trivial pressured guilt washed away by the sounds of laughter
staring into the abyss of a lover's eyes without needing to check if his skin was as brown as mine
open my heart to ideas once only spoken in ***** whispers and frowns
I want the freedom to go
walk drunkenly in the ghettos hand in hand with friends
impromptu trips with no questions asked no "who, what, when, where, and why?"
open my eyes to a world hidden behind dusty shutters and broken blinds
I want freedom
it seems so easy to say
the idea of freedom out-weighing the cons
yet I'm afraid to make the hard choice.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Walking down a desolate road
nothing to my right
nothing to my left
just keep moving
should I stop
I know not would happen
Should I hesitate
the consquences could be dire
I know not what lies before me
all I know is the past
the past is like a surprise visitor
sometimes the guest is merrily welcomed
bringing joy
other times the guest is a burden
weighing you down
making you question the things you have done
but you need to keep moving
remember only the good times
remember no matter what you do
you can repent and better yourself
and keep the hope something better is coming
nothing stays harsh forever
hold your head high
and know
no matter what you do
no matter what you say
someone is waiting for you
at the end of your journey
their arm is extended
and they are beckoning you forward
longing to bring you home
we are always moving never stopping.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC