2:37 am 11-10-09

I wish I could be one of those people
who says they've looked into the eyes of the devil
and spat into them
But I am not.
I cowered and panicked
Where others before have risen up
I let myself stay beaten down.
I have taken responsibility for things not of my doing
I have lied.
To others, yes. But mostly myself.
The worst sin of all
For when all others leave you, who else do you have?
I became a slave of my depression
I am a slave of my depression
No longer.
These cuts on my flesh will be the last done by me
I will be empowered when power seems lost
I will be the master of my own destination
That thin piece of metal will not control me
I will not let it control me.
For I am a beautiful person with love worth sharing
And I will not stay in this darkness any longer.
I will remember that I did nothing to deserve what has happened to me
I WILL NOT LET IT CHANGE WHO I AM

2 entries, because I'm too lazy to load the posting screen twice.

1.: 8-26-09

My mother was practicing alcoholic until I was halfway to my 16th birthday. A damned fine job she did of it, too. I could count on my hands the number of times I kissed her good night through those years. Even less were the time I did but couldn't smell the vodka saturating her very being.
A lot changed that year. I got my first boyfriend in February; I got my brother back (then lost him again) after his escapade to jail beginning in November. My self destructive patterns sped up then slowed again. I lost weight then gained my loss plus more back. I learned what it feels like to lays in the arms of some you love and know they love you back.
--Unfinished.

2.: 8-31-09

Books have a way of overplaying a person's eyes, giving them descriptions only plausible in Japanese cartoons. For example, I for one have never met e person with steel gray eyes. I don't think they exist.
However, saying his were red would have been spot on. From far away, they could have easily been mistaken for brown. Close up, the color of autumn leaves that I would loved to jump into right then and there. Crimson around the pupil, bleeding into a forest green, Framed with the longest and thickest eyelashes I have ever seen on a man who was not wearing makeup, they were beautiful. He was also the only person I had ever seen whose eyes actually smiled. Books always seem to say that, too. Maybe that's just what happens when you fall in love with someone. You see things that no one else could; the ghost of a laugh on their lips, the way their body is always turned slightly towards you no matter what the setting, even the future gleam of gold on their ring finger.

Sort of unfinished, I guess. I doubt I'll go back to that.
Trying to keep up with my writing. Just most of it lately is all emo and has nothing to do with my book and it pisses me off.

6-23-09 "Religious Experience"

All of this
hate
and the only explanation
is that I don't deserve
love
15 years
operating
under that mindset
has the power to
make or
break a person
but I was broken from the beginning
then you came
and taught me
that just because it hadn't been proven
didn't mean it didn't exist
love
this
love
you showed me
make me feel for you
swam against the current of
hate
a difficult, painful process
old habits are hard to break
you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink
I'm sipping
love
I'm timid, left scared and battered from
hate
frightened, that as soon as I attempt to quench my thisrt
you'll leave and take your
love
with you. And I
hate
this mistrust I feel. I
hate
my part for leaving me so suspicious. But I
love
you for showing me the way.

7-29-09

I have a cockroach in a jar
And I love to watch him struggle
Trying to find his freedom
His wings extend but he won't get far

He squirms and runs and flips about
This glass prison confuses him
Almost depressing to watch his little legs
Yet I know I'll never let him out

Call me sociopathic
Call me fucking deranged
But there's something soothing to my soul
to watch something else be frantic

He'll slowly starve, asphyxiate
And I will watch in wonder
As I see something die like I have inside
As the hunger to see pain I satiate

A thought occurs as I watch him try
There's enough pain in the world without my contributing
This small bug had done nothing wrong
His life is something I have no right to deny

I had a cockroach in a jar
Yesterday I smiled as he flew away
I returned his freedom I had wrongfully stolen
And hoped his wings would take him far.

7-28-09

I've died, and no one knows
I lay in tatters, a pile of ruin
And everyone looks on
My mortal shell remains in tact
But me and my ka have been
corrupted, disrupted
by the environment and society I was born into
No longer does a neighbor lend a hand
Fences are erected to protect what is ours
No longer do we care about the world around us
The bitter beast of apathy has swallowed compassion and left darkness of hearts in its' wake.

No longer are we free, loving people.
We are chained by the ropes of hate and ignorance.

And so I've died.
Because the world moved on.
And I chose swim.


-Inspired in part by The Dark Tower series by Stephen King, and Weeds.

5-27-09 I plan on reading the final version of this at the summer coffee shop.

thoughts
thoughts nagging
tugging pulling stretching
pinching at my brain
for its' undivided attention
telling me to look back
back
back
to before
wand what is was like then
before
before lighting struck the world in two
and released the evils that had been
repressed
oppressed
this repression of depression
when released, brings you to
your knees
shaking knocking knees
something has pulled the rug out
from underneath you now skinned
feet
feet
feet away from what you know to be the truth
you can taste it
so different from the taste of lies
metallic
rusty
pristine beautiful glass lies
force fed, spoon fed lies
but you know
no, you don't know
it knows
the small voice in the your head
that diagnoses these truths as lies
that lies
dormant
cozy
in the back of your skull
until your conscience calls upon it
for it's professional opinion
opinions
gossiping opinions
spread
like wildfire
spread
like warm butter
over your unsuspecting
blissfully ignorant
"truths"
opinions
which introduce the acidic seed
of doubt
which burns through your white picket fence
fantasies
and reveals the
horrible
beautiful
truth

Written 4-25-09

Its vastness calms me like nothing else can. Watching the lazy ripples flow reminds me that we are not in a hurry, to take it easy.
The sunlight bounces off of the bloated reeds growing under water in varying shades of brown yellow and green.
Long dead trees stick out of the far side like the crew of a cap sizing boat waving their last good byes.

I wrote this about the big pond at the cabin. I was going to do a whole page type thing, but the dog interrupted my thought process by trying to chase a bird and forcing me to take her back up to the building.

4/11/09

I understand.
I don't want to
Because if I don't blame you,
who do I blame?
And you don't deserve to get off scott-free.
I almost sympathize
Good Lord
I don't want to
I don't want to see how your mind works
Because that means
that I'm more like you than I thought
No.
I want to curl up and have you hole me like you never did
I want you to brush the tears away and lie to me
-tell me everything will be alright
-tell me I'm beautiful
-tell me I'm perfect
Lies.
Pristine glass lies.
I don't want to see the truth
want to live under a rock like everyone else.
I want to be normal.
Kill me.

2-4-09--in Business Law class

lowered
farther
when you thought you couldn't be
unto a mere phrase
perpetrator
the shooter
the disturbed child
no one notices
the reversal of roles
they're being called
what you've been all this time
the victim
They ask why
what irony
you've been wondering the same thing
for years and years
They have only themselves to blame
deep down they know it
they could have prevented it
too late now
you smile
you got what you wanted
you made your mark on this place
with their blood upon the wall.




I also have a story that I started a while back that begins with pretty much these same lines. It's not even close to finished, but I may post what little I have up here sometime.

Should I be sorry?

I realize how "emo" my poetry sounds...but one thing to be put into perspective is that I write poetry when I'm depressed, and stories when I just feel creative- generally.

I hate feeling judged, but I almost do.
Fuck.

2-15&16-09

I used to wish
for Kodak moments
normality
predictability
I used to wish
things would be perfect
life would work out
we would be happy
I didn't know
my lot in life
nothing is perfect
some people
are simply not meant to be content
I used to fight it
tried to change things
attempted to fix myself
but
only broke myself more
I used to wish
people knew
or cared
or acted
I used to wish
for a new day
that would be different
but in reality
was simply a repeat
of the same thing I knew too well
I used to wish
for cliches
and happy endings
for the
smiling
cheerful
people on the glowing screen
to surround me
take me in
love me
accept me
surprise me
and then
I stopped.
I stopped wishing,
fighting
caring
hoping
loving
learning
laughing
thinking
smiling
and became
what they wanted me to be
nothing
worthless
The things they told me I was
so I filled in the position
became the standard
conceded
complied
not living
merely existing
floating through
no one noticed
and if they did,
no one cared enough
to ask
blank eyes
If you're expecting me
to say I was saved
by God
or love
or an influential stranger
you may be right.
It was gradual, this climbing
a slow awakening



----Unfinished.

written 1/27&29/09

and as you stand high atop your pedestal
of broken glass and broken hearts
I ask you
are you happy now?

you got what you wanted
your denial
your escape
but at a price
you obviously did not mind paying
us
so
are you happy now?
I hope you are
Because after everything you've put yourself
and us
through
I still love you
I don't like you
but a child must love its mother
so my bond to you is hanging by the thread called instinct.

are you happy now?
Too bad.
I know it's your fault
but I can't tell you to your face
Role reversal
you become a small child caught in a wrong doing
and my heart of steel becomes a crushed aluminum can when I see your eyes glisten.

are you happy now?
You broke me.
I am no longer what I was or wish to be
I am what I have to be
to keep you afloat
to save us
an object of sorts, a lifesaver thrown out to sea
wishing to be left there
to float on beyond human hurt and needs and discover what could be
instead of what is

Kudos.
I hope you're happy now.

4/2/09.. 1:06 am

The pad on her pointer finger ran down the set of seven cuts on her stomach- one for each day of the week, the deadly sins, and wonders of the ancient world. These examples held no significance to their etchings however. Their existence was simply product of hate. The hate she had for others, her situation, and most of all her self. Her inability to deal with life like a normal person could, her weaknesses; this addiction she had to seeing a physical manifestation of her emotional pain. The amazement she felt watching the beads of blood accumulate into small streams sickened the small part of her that was "right". With a sense of morbid curiosity she scratched off the scabs with the same finger, wanting to see proof of her life. Craving verification that although it didn't seem to matter to anyone else, she was indeed quite alive.
Oh yes, she knew there was something deeply wrong with her. She knew it wasn't healthy. She knew people were sent to mental hospitals for things like this. What she didn't know was how to stop. She had an idea, a spark that occurred to her while watching the redness flow. Maybe, when she cut herself deep enough to see what inside made her so god damned different, she could stop.


I'm not sure how I like the ending.
my other choice is
".....what inside made her so god damned different, she'd be permitted to quit this pattern of self mutilation."

I think I like what I went with when I posted it, because choice 2 seems too scientific, and we're dealing with emotion primarily in this section.

opinions? what would you choose?

Written 4/3/09

I smell it before I see it. The winds are carrying the sweet scent of a spring rain. To the right, blue skies and fluffy clouds. To my left, dying sunshine and grey cover. I ignore the impending shower and continue to lay on my blanket on my yard. Equipped with my camera, phone, macrame, notebook and sketchpad, I am prepared. For what, exactly, has yet to be seen. The sun has broken through the grey clouds, giving the scene a strange ominous feel. The small breezes caress the grass and irritate my hair. The clouds are directly overhead now. Blue skies drifting farther and farther to my right. A chill fills the air. Silence- but for the chirp of birds.



that's all I got for that one. I got distracted. I don't like it really, at all anyway so the short nature of it is fine by me. And you know, it never even rained that day. I was so dissapointed.

Yo

Well, I guess a welcome is hardly in order.
More of an explanation I guess.
I'll post my writing's here, mainly stories, a little poetry.
But something you might like to remember about the poems is that a lot of the time, they have no standing on how I'm actually feeling at the time. It's more like I think about how someone else would feel on some other situation.

So there.
I'll post a few things soon.