Please do not tell me I am not who I am,
Though my worth has dwindled
From the girl I have been.
Heavy winds free my soul,
Sweep me up into your storm.
Self awareness formed this bridge,
And now I pay the toll.
To know oneself truly,
Cuts deep into shallow skin,
Fresh blood pools in waves,
Crashing and burning deep within.
Who am I, I now ask,
The naysayer who tore me in half,
The disbeliever who crushed my spirit,
The false friend who would not hear it.
Those around me,
Who pocket my blame,
In a coat, on a rainy day,
Disappear behind glass windows
Of the house I call my home.
In my home, which I call safe.
Spiteful souls, there are none.
But as a I gaze into the mirror,
And look upon my broken face,
I see the truth reflecting back,
Behind the barrel of a gun.
Poor, Sad little soul.
Like bile filled mouth.
Little girls lost all control.
Froth with oatmeal stirred dreams.
Waiting for a life,
Oh, what a pitiful thing.
Green leaves, fallen too soon,
Crunch beneath my fast feet.
If only I could see above and below,
Simultaneous wishing, where reason and my wants meet.
“Stop running,” He says,
While my heart pace quickens and my legs itch to escape.
But his words can’t stop this nightmare.
Everyday the Earth crumbles beneath me,
And his words can’t make me safe.
So I run,
And all the while, eyes wide, I am scavenging for a new route,
Because happiness escaped me,
And I need a way out.
Enconsced in the warm embrace of family,
I should be there.
Miles of distance separate,
For what purpose I ask myself as I sear.
Happiness out of reach,
Circles envelope in my mind,
Of stories, or circumstances,
Of how they need me
And I, them.
My past plays on rewind.
As I sit here, perched in dilemmas,
And give birth to lifeless dreams,
This mindless heart reflects on her sorrows.
Too tired to try,
Too hurt to care.
Not here, I say.
I should be there.
Criticism strikes like a knife to my soul,
Disguised as a joke,
But the pain stings sincere.
Was the right thing to spin the wheels of my rusty mind faster?
Was the right thing to never ask at all?
I am unaware of how I got here.
I am unsure of how my story ends,
All I know is this static condition,
And it was I who set the tone.
Like a dog for approval’s bone.
I just wanted to do the right thing,
Let me try, Oh no, how dare I,
If I asked, shame on me,
I should’ve known.
The truth cuts deep,
When it stares you down in your reflection.
Accept your faults, and leave thoughts be.
But still I wonder,
What miraculous event will move my needle?
Its foundation stiff and stern.
A sea of mistakes, I’m always swimming,
But to drown, despicable me, I yearn.
No book or words could teach me,
My mind will never learn.
Come up for air,
Bad decisions, I breathe in.
One word, One trigger,
And my gun of sorrows lit.
Tragic clarity consumes my hope.
And then I know,
The right thing was never here.
The right thing required better.
Silly girl, too blind to see,
The right thing was not inside you.
The right thing was never me.
A small excerpt from a fantasy novel I am working on:
Cursed am I, for the crickets do chirp,
At night in a land, so quietly serene,
So desolate and vast,
As I sit here gazing at the dust in the sky,
I am but nothing
But a mourner, a sea-side foreigner,
In the desert of my mind,
Shalt my body whither so divine.