"ked" poems
I have been doing a lot of work with my feelings lately. I have avoided them for most of my life because, well the bad ones outweigh the good ones.
The rest of them were f@#ked or beaten out of me.
I have always believed that my feelings only led to trouble and pain. A simple feeling stated as a child sent me tumbling down a rabbit hole of horrific pain. An innocent smile was interpreted to be nothing but filthy desire. A frown was nothing but blatant rebellion that had to be dealt with.
My thinking is extremely black and white. Good or bad. Right or wrong. But what I'm learning is that feelings don't fall easily into any of those categories. The classifications that I have used to reason my life into some semblance of order do not work for feelings.
So walking in this grey area is very difficult for me. I cannot make much sense of what I allow myself to feel and if I do, I get stuck. The detachment I have felt to my memories is slowly being bridged by the missing feelings. And that is terrifying.
I have always been able to share, matter of factly, the details I have chosen to disclose. And I'm very afraid that those details were the easy ones; the ones I could disconnect from and push the feelings onto someone else.
Remember those rabbit holes? When I find the feelings associated with that pain it's like falling down that hole bound, gagged, and blindfolded. My logic was my only means of control and I've lost it amongst the feelings. The only way to climb out of that hole?
Literally feel my way out.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
"Son can you play me a memory
I'm not really sure how it goes
But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Billy Joel lyrics from
"Piano Man"*
~~~~~~~~~~~~
when I was very young
I wore Levi jeans and white
Hanes cotton T shirts
my mother bot me,
my feet, Ked clad, red
from the kid's "department" store
on Central Avenue,
the Main Street of my small town
when I was a young lad,
I wore workingman's cargo jeans and
white Hanes cotton T shirts
under red plaid
wooly shirts, itchy affairs,
that I bot for myself
in a real Army Navy store,
desert colored suede boots,
laced up high,
upon my feet
when I was of middling years,
my jeans were khaki pants,
Gap supplied,
and my Gap T shirts,
faded like me,
a non-descript color,
made in a gap of pale pastel colors
from Bangladesh or Vietnam,
pale pastel, like me
so as I slide~decline into
my nursing home years,
I wear unbranded jeans and
white cotton no name T shirts
with matching white disposable slippers,
that the Purchasing Department
bot for me, cause they know,
I like,
a younger man's clothes and
the memories that play all day
lost in day dreaming of a life
well dressed
2:01am
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
"Nita, what do you NEED ?"
I HATE it when someone asks me that question!
"Nita, What do you need?"
NEED: “require”… “want”… “necessitate”
"What do you need right now. You don't have to do this in isolation."
"What do you need right now? I am not afraid of the little girl."
"What do you need right now? If you need something I am here to listen."
"If you don't think you are safe, then what do you need from me or others or yourself?"
Why does it matter what I "NEED"? Why do you ask me when you are not going to be able to grant that/those "NEED(S)"?
Is my Survivor Fairy Godmother asking you for a list of Nita's NEEDS so she can come wave her magic wand, sing, bippity, boppity, boo...and I'll become an unf@#ked kid?
Well, why didn't you say so!
Here's my list for the Godmother:
I NEED to be 'unf@#ked'. I NEED the voices in my head to stop. I NEEDED my evil father not to touch me. I NEED the flashbacks to stop. I NEED my body not to hurt. I NEED the fear to stop. I NEED for you to be here for me NOW like you WERE then. I NEEDED to be loved by my parents. I NEED someone to teach me what love really is. I NEED someone to show me that trust really does exist in this world. I NEED you to help me at night when I am suicidal and dissociative. I NEED you to be available after 10pm, when the hell started, you know, like you used to be...back when you actually cared about what I NEEDED. I NEED the little girl to stop whining and crying. I NEED to not have physical symptoms that relate to then. I NEED the nightmares to stop. I NEED the constant headaches to stop. I NEED my crohn’s to not be in a constant flare up. I NEED to stop having recurrent UTIs. I NEED the ****** Angry Girl to stop hurting me. I NEED to sleep. I NEED to want to live before I die.
I NEED you to hear me.
What? There is NO Survivor Fairy Godmother? NO magic wand?
I'm shocked! NOT!
I'm guessing that's why she never showed up then, either...I prefer to think that rather than her never answering my cries of: Please make him stop hurting me!
I NEED you to STOP asking me what I NEED Since we both know that those NEEDS will NEVER be my reality, and that it is actually more painful to ask for what you NEED and not get that need met, then it is to keep your NEEDS to yourself. At least that's true for me.
So...unless you have a survivor registry where I can resister for the aforementioned NEEDS, or, perhaps a survivor merit system where I can earn credits to 'buy' the above NEEDS (I'm not afraid of hard work)...then STOP ASKING ME WHAT I NEED!
Because we both know it does not matter what I NEED!
Can't undo what's already been done. We both know that.
What Nita "NEEDS" right now is a bottle of ***** and some cranberry juice…THAT is a NEED I can meet right now!
A TOAST!
Here's to: UNMET NEEDS
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
Boring and rude?
That's a rich call, coming from you!
But rude I'll concede,
Given the circumstances -
You pester me with calls and texts,
And invade my private domain,
And won't listen when I say, "No" -
What would you expect?
That I'd be grateful towards
A drunken lush intruding my peace?
That I'd be receptive to a needy egoism
More entrenched than Catholic Dogma?
No, that is not my way - No!
You can get f**ked! And I told you -
I had to spend an hour
Convincing you I wasn't interested;
That your infatuation wasn't reciprocated;
That, when you're drunk, you're not worth knowing;
That I've heard of your glory days
And your present travails a million times;
That you can't offer me what I need -
A decent conversation, nor a decent *******
And I told you - I didn't pull punches;
I didn't lie - I wasn't playing games.
I told you in no uncertain terms
And you didn't like my Truths -
Perhaps they touched a nerve?
Rude? Sure, maybe I was,
But there was no other way
To sink these facts through your alcoholic haze.
As for boring - I'll not concede boring.
I may not lead an exciting life,
But boring? No - anything ****
You've a hide, when every conversation
Begins with an "I", "Me" or "My";
Anyone would think the World revolves around you!
You take egocentricism to a new level;
So self-involved and hard-done-by,
You feel the need to inflict yourself on others.
Adios, me amiga!
And, Hola, me Amigos!
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
(Tr)aveling w(i)th the younger I
With her on your back
She gazed at intricate diamonds of the dark.
Never facing an ounce of (um)brage.
With age, her knowledge flourished
Growing from the water of your trunk
Her brain was nourished with ex(p)erience
Following in your trail
Strengthening over time
She (ha)d no i(nt)erest on your back
Nor the night sky
Rather clouds and the outside
Away sh(E) wa(l)ked from your shadow
With your trunk raised high
Lions and crocodiles swarmed her on s(e)a and land
With no trunk or tusk
Adrenaline rushed
She shook in nerves til dusk
Continuing days with no shade
Skin cells accepting harsh sun rays
With the storm of your stom(p)s
She awaited your presence
(h)yen(a)s laughed as you came
Splattering blood on your name
You laid with your wheel
As she wailed with no trunk
She wept
For you sculpted her i(nt)o who (s)he was
Long, Long down the road.
Buying from an old bookstore
Finding a binder filled with the Royal Animals
Turning the first sheet
She noticed a stamp
Reminding her of her stuffed friends
Triumphant Elephants
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 12:37 PM UTC
This is just a dark piece of creative writing. It is not aimed at anybody. Just a bundle of words! Before you read this I hope you don't find it too offensive. I think I posted adequate censorship warnings. EVERY SO OFTEN I LOVE DOING A REALLY DARK WRITE! THIS IS PROBABLY THE LAST ONE YOU WILL BE PRIVVY TOO FOR A LONG TIME!
Thank you for understanding!
Tore my eyes out.
Popped them on my plate.
Stuck your fork in.
You watched them pop.
You said that I was watching you.
Well I can't do now.
Whatever.
For a really brainy man.
You sure as hell aren't very clever.
You tied me up with ribbons .
You sat me in your favourite chair,
Tried to feed me mushrooms.
Gave me them in a witches brew.
Think you called it tea.
I couldn't see.
It was foul as foul can be.
Told me that I'd like them.
You said you didn't care.
The volumes were distorted.
My love he then aborted.
Left my soul tied up in the chair.
Tripping out like I won't care.
Jesus Christ
I was so scared.
Almost crucified.
Now my love he had denied.
My man of so black.
F**ked off and left me.
Won't be back.
Shut my eyes and try to sleep.
And only then I realised.
I could not find my eyes.
Just have sore sockets.
That drip with blood and weep.
My peepers can no longer peep.
He took them out a while ago.
So I could not see the way to go!
If this is love.
I'll give it a miss.
Don't need no more of this!
(C) Livvi 01/12/2013
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Det eneste jeg vil læse, er dine tanker, men alligevel bladrer jeg videre i bøgerne, æder dem op.
Jeg er blevet weekendnarkoman, og din kærlighed er mit stof. Jeg er blevet afhængig.
Verden forsvinder under mig, så jeg kan flygte ud over den sorte hinde af kulstof, vi har spredt.
Du er lykken i lykkelighed, men jeg er ked af det. Selvom du ikke ved det.
For jeg vil have DIG til at være med MIG, jeg vil se på intet. Jeg vil lade være med alt.
Jeg ser på dig opgivende. - Over de ting du ikke gør, og ikke siger du vil,
Men som jeg i fortabelse af dig, ved at din underbevidsthed kan føle jeg vil have.
Du skal kunne mærke mit hjerteslag, slå som 1000 piskesmæld hver gang
DU er i nærheden, og ser ind i mine sårede safir-blå øjne og sarte sjæl,
Den er kombineret og komponeret af lange klagesange fra alle de mennesker,
Der har det svært. Som jeg hjælper, og elsker. Selvom, jeg selv føler mig
I underskud af kærlighed, men anderledes. Fra dig. Til mig. Til dig. Fra mig.
Vi er samlet, når vi ligger ned, sammen - smilende i solen. En melankolsk drøm.
Jeg gør mit liv, til et univers alene. Virkelighed… For ikke at blive fuld med mig selv -
over dig, speeder jeg mig selv; med for mange for evigt, forandrede tanker.
Du forstår ikke, det er dig. Og kun dig. Min hyldest til den sommer, vi ikke får sammen.
For jeg er den, og du er det, som jeg er bange for, forlader mig i efterårets mørke.
Jeg ser solen går ned og jeg ser mit maniske humør gøre det samme.
Pladserne i de små byer er fyldt med folk, som drikker italiensk rødvin, det kan vi også.
Det bliver et sted jeg tager mig og dig tilbage til, når jeg gennemgår min hjerne.
Vi var der ikke. Vi kommer ikke sådanne steder. Men hvis du bare så på mig,
Så ville du vide, at jeg vil give dig hele min verden, på trods af den er rodet og grim,
Og du er smuk og ordentlig. Men vi er ens, med få modsætninger, en symbiose.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
Just pray harder, Nita....
I have been on edge and triggered all day long…actually all week now…there are a variety of reasons…and the mere fact that it is almost the weekend tends to steer me toward the ’bad place’ – and I am falling quickly into the darkness tonight.
There’s no comfort tonight, other than in a bottle of wine and a pill box full of ativan...the therapist would tell me, “Nita, there is no reason to be scared. Find your safe place. Listen to your grandmother’s soothing voice.” Nothing to fear? Are you serious? And the safe place comment always cracks me up! Do you really think there was any place ‘safe’ to go then? Where the hell would I find safety in a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom, filthy trailer? There was NOsafe place. There was no place to hide! Except inside my head.
I should pray about it. That’s what my very religious grandmother would tell me. ”Just ‘pray harder’ Nita.” God answers prayers. Just pray harder, Nita…pray harder. My grandmother was very religious and very private. Don’t ever air your ***** laundry to anyone, well, with the exception of God. Pray harder Nita…pray harder…
Why didn’t God every answer MY prayers?
Why is that?
Because I wasn't "good enough"?
Because I didn't pray LOUD enough?
Because I didn’t pray HARD enough?
Because no one cared!!!!!!
That's why!
No one really cares now either…throw it all in a container, spray some holy water on it, drop to your knees and PRAY.
DON'T you dare tell me that my fear isn't 'real'. Don't you dare tell me that you ‘care’! No one does! And it doesn't matter anyway - no one can accept the 'unacceptable' - apparently not even GOD!
My grandmother was loving...yes, she rocked me, she sang to me when I was sick - she spent every night with me when I was in the hospital repeatedly for recurring kidney infections... because kids that get f@#ked tend to develop recurring UTIs which left untreated lead to bladder infections which then lead kidney infections. She was THERE! But she NEVER asked me! EVER! No one did!
But I guarantee you she fell to her knees every single night and PRAYED for her f@#ked up alcoholic son and her ******* up grandkids.
Just pray harder, Nita. Just pray harder!
Yeah - I should get down on my knees RIGHT NOW! And PRAY For f@#king RELIEF!
If I'm still breathing tomorrow you'll know HE heard me!
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
SÅR DER HELER PÅ LÆBEN,
RU HÅNDOVERFLADER
OG BEN DER RYSTENDE FORSØGER AT VALSE MENSTURATIONSSMERTER, ØMME MUSKLER OG GRIMME NEGLEBÅND
*** SPØRGER OM HVAD DER ER GALT
JEG SIGER JEG ER KED AF DET OG GRÆDER
*** SIGER HVORFOR
OG JEG VED DET IKKE
OG HAR PÅ SAMME TID LYST TIL AT SNAKKE
MEN JEG SIGER INGENTING
OG INTET BRÆNDER MERE I HALSEN END USAGTE ORD
MEN DET VED DU VEL IKKE ******* LORTE PSYKOLOG
JEG GÅR PÅ EN STI
DEN ER 11
OG DER ER INGEN MENNESKER
SÅ JEG SÆTTER MIG PÅ EN BÆNK
OG JEG TØRRER IHÆRDIGT TÅRERNE VÆK
IMENS JEG VRÆLER BANDEORD
OG FORSØGER AT HULKE ALLE DÆMONERNE UD
SELVOM INTET GIVER POTE
OG JEG ER FORDÆRVET INDENI
TRÆKKER JEG PÅ SMILEBÅNDET
OG SMILEHULLERNE BEGEJSTRER SIG
MEN ER DET SÅDAN UNGDOM SKAL FØLES?
JEG TAGER UD OM LØRDAGEN
FORDI JEG ARBEJDER HVER FREDAG
SÅ JEG STJÆLER GLÆDE FRA SØNDAG
DEN GLÆDE DER NU FINDES
TUNGE ØJENLÅG
TEQUILA
TILTRÆNGT EFEMERISK LYKKE
OG TAKTISK SELVBEDRAGISK LATTER
TILFREDSHEDEN ER DER NÆPPE
MEN ER JEG GOD NOK NU ELLER HVAD?
JEG TAGER HJEM
MEN JEG VENTER FØRST PÅ NATBUSSEN
ELLER ER DET TOGET
ELLER METROEN
FØRST EN SMØG JEG BRÆNDER MIG PÅ FINGEREN
ALTING ER JO SLØRET
FORHELVEDE DET GØR ONDT.
JEG FRYSER OG MINE TÆNDER KLAPRER
JEG VED IKKE ENGANG HVORDAN JEG FÅR STEGET PÅ
VÅGNER DAGEN EFTER
SORTE RANDER UNDER ØJNENE
OG TØMMERMÆND
ER DET HELE DÉT VÆRD?
MED KRØLLEDE PENGESEDLER,
FINTSKÅRET TOBAK FRA KNÆKKEDE CIGARETTER,
OG ET UBRUGT KONDOM I TASKEN
GÅR JEG UD
MEN LÆGGER FOLK OVERHOVEDET MÆRKE TIL AT JEG GÅR?
LUGTEN AF BODEGA SPREDER SIG PÅ GADEN
NÅR JEG BEVÆGER MIG PÅ FORTOVET
JEG FÅR ET TILTRÆNGENDE KNUS FØR *** LUKKER MIG IND MEN LUKKER JEG OVERHOVEDET HENDE ELLER NOGEN IND?
JEG SIDDER VED RADIATOREN
DEN ER VARM OG SYMPATISK
IKKE SOM DE SKØDELØSE KYS
ELLER DEN ANARKISTISKE IDENTITET
MEN ER JEG IKKE OKAY NU?
JEG KVÆLER DEN KOGENDE KOFFEIN
OG KÆFTEN BRÆNDER
KU DET BLIVE MERE KAOTISK
KU DET?
DEN KRUMMEDE VÅDE MEN LUNE CIGARET HÆNGER I MUNDVIGEN
JEG TAGER DEN IMELLEM PEGEFINGEREN OG FUCKFINGEREN INHALERER OG PUSTER UD
HVAD JEG HÅBER PÅ ER TOMHEDEN INDENI
IMENS TÅRERNE UFRIVILLIGT LØBER NED AF KINDERNE HVORNÅR HOLDER DET OP?
ER DET STRÆKMÆRKERNE,
DET RUNDE ANSIGT,
POLLENALLERGIEN,
MANGEL PÅ SYMPATI OG PENGE
ELLER BARE MIN PERSONLIGHED
DÉT DER GØR AT JEG IKKE ER GOD NOK?
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
Jeg må da være den værste datter af alle døtre
Jeg lod ham sidde der
mutters alene
Et ovalt bord og en lun lasagne foran sig
En rank ryg iført en perfekt strøget blå skjorte
Og han var så skuffet
ked af det
grædefærdig
Fordi jeg var egoistisk - sagde han
og han var hensynsløs - sagde jeg
Og nu er alt bare så trist
Trist af alt, var synet af ham alene ved bordet
Det ovale bord
Hvor han stirrede ind i væggen istedet for på mig
Egoistiske jeg, mig men aldrig dig
Ikke en lyd spillede for at opmundre ham
Ikke andet end gaflen som tilsidst ramte den tomme tallerken
som nok forundre og dundre frem for at opmundre
Egoisme er min alkoholisme af individualisme
men denne samvittighed smager af likør midt på dagen
Han er måske den værste far af alle fædre
men jeg må da være den værste datter af alle døtre
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
He **** her with ease
She **** him to please
She **** as he wishes
And she does not see
He **** with disease.
He thrusts with anger, disguising his pain
She receives it as passion, it drives her insane
He thrusts with intention, he's full with disdain
She receives unwittingly, her health being slain
He arises proud having laid her in a lie
She arises feeling a closeness and exhales a soft sigh
She turns to watch him leaving and proceeds to wonder why
He turns and moves with furor and never says goodbye
She looks into the mirror giving thought to her conduct
Each moment playing in her head she starts to reconstruct
As toxins flow through her veins and begin to deconstruct
She finally takes her blinders off and sees she's just been fu¢ked
© Tina Thompson
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 11:51 AM UTC
I ' m croo ked like
I ' m croo ked like
I am croo ked like
I am crooked like
Grass under your foot
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
Jeg var så lykkelig, og du var så lykkelig, og vi var så glade og lykkelige i øjeblikket. Vi var så forelskede den aften at byen bare hang som et maleri bag os. Du talte med en lav stemme, der fik højlydte grin ud ad mig, og så råbte vi et par gange at folk så smukke ud. Jeg tror at vi udgjorde et flot par der i mørket ved siden af neonlysene i søerne. Du sagde at du elskede mig fra Alaska og tilbage, og jeg svarede at du var skør. Du kastede dit hovede tilbage og smilte til hvad der lignede himlen, og så tog vi metroen fra Frederiksberg til Nørreport og løb til Marstalsgade med en rosé vi havde lånt af kiosken. Ad den smalle gade kiggede på høje bygninger og lod som om de alle var Eiffeltårnet. Vi kiggede ind ad folks små vinduer, og så de liv som jo foregår bag mure af beton. Et par som skændtes, og vi svor at det aldrig skulle være os. En far der lagde sin datter til at sove i en drømmeseng, som fik tårer frem i mine øjne. Du spurgte hvorfor jeg græd på en fredag aften, og jeg fortalte dig om min far som var forskruet og fanget i en billedramme på en villavej. Så kyssede du mig og sagde at mennesker bliver skøre af at leve i billedrammer. At de før eller siden knækker glasset, fordi at alt ilten forsvinder. Vi ville aldrig leve i en billedramme. Vi var de typer som man ville se på storskærm over Rådhuspladsen. Røde neonlys over alle menneskerne i billedrammer. Vi sov i min lejlighed på gulvet, fordi at sengen var for mennesker i billedrammer og vi var jo neonlys i forhold til de glødepærer. Og da vi vågnede, kiggede du på mig som om alt ilten var forsvundet ud ad rummet. Undskyldende over at have trukket vejret for dybt. Jeg forstod det ikke, men du fortrød mig lidt tror jeg. Du fortalte at du skulle hjem, hvor du derefter kindkyssede mig og forsvandt ud ad entreen. Du var ikke forelsket i mig trods gode kys og neonlys. Jeg var lidt ked af at jeg nåede at forelske mig i løbet af en nat.
Men hey det var jo ikke din skyld. Det er jo hvad der sker, når man drikker hvidvin på tom mave.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Du sidder ligeså stille
Uden at sige noget
Dit hjerte banker i en stille rytme
Uden at larme selvfølgelig.
Du snakker med dig selv
Men kan ikke tale
Du vil ikke andet
Og du kan ikke høre dig selv
Hænder urolige og krummende
Dit hoved altid summende
Du må hellere smile
Så du ikke bliver set
Set igennem
Opdaget og afsløret
Sig frem
Jeg ved du kan
Ikke andet du vil
Du er ikke så tydelig som du tror
På den gode måde selvfølgelig.
Alle venter men ingenting sker
Der sker ingenting
Du smiler og griner
Det hele er okay
Hvorfor vil du ikke med?
Der sker ingenting
Du er i sikkerhed her
Jeg ville ønske du var mig
Hvis du var mig
Og jeg var dig
Muligheden for at kigge
For at skue og blinke til
Du ville se
Ville kunne se mig
Som faktisk er dig
Hvor eksisterende du er
Hvor værende du er
Du ved ingenting
Jeg ved det hele.
Du ser hen på dem
Den derovre ved siden af selvfølgelig.
Altid glade
Altid på toppen
Uden at vise tegn på
Lave tegn til FARE
Det er bare en væg selvfølgelig
Det er det man siger
Jeg så dig en dag
Faktisk i dag
Du var glad
Du smilte så man kunne
Ja man kunne faktisk se dine tænder
De var hvide selvfølgelig
Du gør hvad der bliver sagt
Hvad der bliver fortalt
Ligesom tandlægen altid sagde
Rundt i cirkler
Altid mere end en gang
Helst mere en fire
Der var nogle
Hvem var de?
Der var ingen fare selvfølgelig.
Det er klart
Man kan hvad man vil sagde du
Man vælger det man føler
Man vælger hvad man tror
At man fortjener
Ikke alle fortjener det her
Det skal nok gå
Det var det du sagde
Det fortalte du mig engang
Nej faktisk hver dag
Hver eneste dag
Hver gang jeg tvivlede
Det var *** selvfølgelig
Alt på højkant
Uden at det talte
Uden at nogen holdte regnskab
Som et bassin fyldt til kanten
En dag vil vandet løbe ud
Ud over kanterne
Det var alligevel ikke så stort
Vandet vil ikke blive tørret væk
Det vil tørre selvfølgelig
Det vil forsvinde
Jeg så dig være glad en dag
Nej faktisk i dag
Det gjorde mig glad selvfølgelig
Jeg så dig være ked
En lille smule ked
Af det, af hvad?
Det er okay sagde du
Det bliver det nødt til at være.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I felt tired and empty and aching and oh.so.alone in this struggle.
Life is so **** painful sometimes
Yet we still are supposed to stay here,
People are still “counting” on us to put on a happy face and carry on with our head and chin raised!
NO! You must not deter from LIVING!
Even in the face of Hurricane and gale-force winds that tear through your body and blacken your soul.
I walk on this path
Where madness and insanity are the only stepping stones.
And the voices get louder with each step I take.
They speak in familiar tones telling me how much I am hated, loathed, despised, unlovable.
And I know…I know how close I come…
When my vision becomes wavy and the voices grow louder and the counting begins…
Everyone hates you.
You are worthless.
No one cares.
Not a soul in this world would miss you.
So close…closer…closer…
I can feel his breath in my ear…
There is only one way to make him go away.
I am scared.
Sometimes petrified!
I work hard…so hard to just stay here
It’s difficult at times.
Like I use EVERYTHING in me to fight it.
And I’m scared.
What if I can’t?
What if nothing I have will work?
What if I succumb to the madness?
The clock is ticking so loud in my ear
I am shaking and digging through this box of keys, frantically searching for the right one.
And I know time is limited.
I know that I have to find that key before the clock stops.
What if I can’t find it?
Madness is just another for f@#ked up.
Don’t you think?
God…I am a quite literally mad.
I hate this – this rattling on and on until I fall off into the abyss.
Tumbling into the darkness
Not knowing where or even if, I will land.
I hate to think of everyone judging me.
I think you hate me.
I’m fairly certain it’s true.
Weak. Mad. Insane.
I hate me.
Why wouldn’t you?
I judge me…why shouldn’t you?
Weak…Mad…Insane…
It is too much sometimes…
Never really feeling alive,
So never really capable of dying to escape the cruel evil abusive memories of him
Who tear and claw at me, skinning me, burning me,
Killing me slowly
Oh.so.painfully.
I hear his anger.
I feel his hate.
And I fight…
I stay in survival mode and pretend everything is okay.
But why?
When I am certain not a soul would truly miss me.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC
You asked me one time,
why I liked the stars so much,
and I didn't really have an answer for you.
But now I do.
I like the stars because,
we're really seeing the past,
and it seems to me that I liked my past
more than I'm going to like my future.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 6:26 PM UTC
twitchley body funds my eyesight,
endorsing social security of the mind--
the free market of my inhibitions deci
des to monopolize the rights to my soul
as a crown corporation but we'll nationa
lize again again with the help of shock d
octrine-- flinching in the light you called
the office of internal affairs regarding mat
ters of the heart, but but but it was left to
open classrooms to tell you what and how
to live yer life, and nothing more. who kee
ps anyone different? who holds them to sim
ilar? what makes me no h2o and what mak
es you no granite? because last night we cal
led you drunk and you called us sober. no
one picked up the comments and no one pic
ked up the phone. crippled and meaningless,
nihilism felt obliged to die. i felt obliged to die.
i felt obliged to leave myself alone, or risk seei
ng me again.
the noose cooperated and collapsed and collapsed,
and collapsed.
this is not a suicide note. it is a sidenote
and you will find me beating deep inside yer
chest.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
det er svært synes jeg,
at bruge sin tid på at lade som om det er ligegyldigt
at holde det nede,
det er ligemeget, intet problem, som det plejer, vi klarer os
men hvad så når man vil bruge det,
bruge det imod dig
så virker det dumt,
for hvad hvis jeg aldrig rigtig var ked af det, hvor vigtigt kan det være
og så går det galt,
og så er det svært
fordi spørgsmålet er jo,
om jeg er ked af det
eller om jeg leder efter opmærksomhed,
opmærksomhed kun fra dig
så fortsætter jeg med at gøre det svært,
lade som ingenting, det er ligemeget, intet problem, som det plejer, vi klarer os
så fortsætter jeg med at gøre det svært,
og bruge det imod dig,
at du er ligeglad,
men hvad skulle du ellers være,
når jeg virker ligeglad
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
I don't understand why I feel so dead inside
Why would I set the key aside
If I hadn't lost that key
You wouldn't be in my head right now I just want to be set free
My body is starting to break down
My mind is going in circles being chased around
My head is stirring up dark deep thoughts
How can I make it stop I'm so out of sorts
Why did I let you beat me and choke me
You wouldn't stop until my body went limp I didn't know at the time I was just a trainee
All the while I thought you loved me
All I wanted was to make a family tree
You loved being in power and in control
I lost everything my body,heart, and soul
You was a con straight out of the hood
I was a fish straight out of school
I wasn't living no more just going through the motion day by day
Waiting mostly for the hits that you gave me when I disobeyed
Being careful of where I was hit
So no one could tell I was being extinguished
you didn't want bruised merchandise
You preyed on my mind as I declined
Following every rule you made
Taking every punishment you served
Was I gonna be sold to traffickers
Or was you afraid to let your money maker go to the panthers
Was this the bigger picture all along
You stole my key and sold it to the devil is that why my head was always bashed against the wall
I was under your spell
Only way out was through hell
People see you hitting and beating me
But they just walk around or keep going never saying word to help me get my master key
Why did you not stop and help me
Maybe I would've went back but what if you was the one who set me free
My life was in danger
I was told my family was too which was a game changer
I did as told and when I was told and what I was told
Somewhere in your f--ked up mind you thought I wasn't obeying you was always in control
That's when you used whatever weapon
You had in tow to beat me into submission I reckon
You thought you was a player
You was my soul taker
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
I'll stay awake tonight
I'll make sure our memory
stays
alive
I'll wrap it up
hold it close
give it warmth
rock it back and forth
I won't let it grow cold
I won't let it's light die out
I
I will hold it in my heart
let it set me on fire
orange burns flaming blue
finality drops like a gavel
resounding
echo
ring
endsclashwithbeginnings
as sunrises and nights do
my stomach tips
tipsy containing all of you
my lips they
burn
from dragging you in
I smoke you
and
I
I choke on your
sickeningly
sweet
poison
you
fill
my lungs
deflate my kerosine heart
your love
burned me
up
my skyscrapers
down
coldly hollow
winded room
with blown out candle thoughts
lifeless eyes
c rac ked
window panes
the glass you
touched
was frigidly warm
with nocturnal sapphire gleams
my door sits ajar
but you knock continually
banging
my wooden paneled frames
splinter me through
rapture
my shores of endless sores
I
I am
I am begging
you
to light me on fire
set me ablaze once more
power hold of gripping electric lies
did it give you some
sick
twisted
satisfaction to break me
down
to shove my head
underwater
and force me to
drown?
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
So and so thousand of years ago we dwelled, dawdled, subsisted.
Connected by instinct and possible affinity.
What linkage, or seam could be listed?
D.n.a., dreams, common elements in our lunch?
I would like to esteem if we were to meet we would bore each other, and stare at our feet.
I've come to a modern conclusion that we came together through time with infinite cause.
Our gathering however would be brief in nature, because its probable we **** another without pause.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
If he would let me
I’d marvel at your ebony hair
falling weightlessly
down your tired shoulders
Oh, how it kills me with jealousy
If he would let me
I’d run my fingers through them
finding comfort in its thickness
creating paths of discovery
If he would let me
I’d sit for hours marveling
at those hazel eyes, very dark hazel eyes
trying to dissect their histories
stories and even their romances
If he would let me
I’d embrace you
tightly, till my heart speaks with yours
in beats in sync
If he would let me
I’d hold your hand
and feel the rush of a 16 year old
high on butterflies and blushes
If he would let me
I’d kiss those wine red lips
and get drunk off of their toxicity
**** sobriety at this point
If he would let me
I’d lie on the hood of my car
under the stars, with you
listening to you foretelling
a vague future of fame and glory
If he would let me
I’d paint a portrait of ultimate beauty
with my fingertips
on your freckled skin
that’ll drive Aphrodite mad
If he would let me
I’ll stay high of off your laughter
enjoying the lightness of joy
all day, everyday
If he would let me
I’d go forth and give you it
but every time
I reach inside my rib cage
to grab it
it pulls back
and protrudes thorns
Oh dear heart
why have you sedated your being
I do miss me some adrenaline?
Why won’t you let me?
“I have heard many pumps you idiot
but none like mine
you think I like being prozac-ked
by your silly fear?
Oh dear you are a fool indeed”
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
Fiddling with filing, as she stood by the cabinet.
Smiled discreetly, as both their eyes they met.
He undressed her with his eyes.
While she fiddled with his flies.
Grabbing hard at true perfection.
Knowing, now there's no rejection.
F***king perfection.
Her lips, they smacked him fiercely.
****** spontaneity.
He responded with passion.
At work, of course, never in fashion.
He slammed shut the door.
As they rolled on the floor.
Hell, he responded.
For he had absconded.
Escaped today's parliamentary debate.
The honourable member of the house.
F***ked his secretary.
Never his spouse.
In a rash moment, she wriggled and jiggled attached to the end of his powerful finger.
Waiting expectantly, for manhood to enter.
She did it for free, cos no-one would rent her!
The rolled about on the solid oak floor.
Bumping and ******* with wonderful wails.
Those footsteps came banging down the hall.
As secretary # two came to call.
She listened to screams of positive pleasure.
Turned her on buckets.
She didn't knock.
Peeped through the keyhole watching his ****
Wanted to play too.
She really did.
Didn't dare knock.
So she listened some more, for a moment or two.
Thought of his ****
Then she wandered into the loo.
Gave herself an ******
Like no other, better than a real lover!
Never played at work before.
The parliamentary freaking *****
She wriggled and jigged while she fiddled, did she get very wet?
You bet!
(c) Livvi
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC