late occurrences

My mother always said that practice makes perfection,
And if you want some love, you must first show affection.
I’ve come realize that my best is not always the very best,
And that after a long day, sometimes you just need to rest.
I’ve made peace with the fact that you can’t always get what you need,
And that you must respect yourself if you want to succeed.
But it’s only lately occurred to me, that pain is a blessing,
And that sometimes the knowing isn’t as good as the guessing.
That God only gives us what we can handle,
And that if you want to see, you must light the candle.
That good timber does not grow with ease,
And the stronger the wind, the stronger the trees.

three AM.

i’m laying in bed, woken up at 3 am
for the fourth time this week.
i can’t believe i’m still crying,
rape isn’t for the weak.

i’m remembering what happened,
going over it in my head.
i used to feel safe at home,
now i don’t even feel it in my bed.

i’m dreading waking up tomorrow,
wishing i wouldn’t at all.
i didn’t take the step,
why did i have to take the fall?

i’m losing all hope that
i’ll ever be a whole person again,
it’s messing with my soul,
it’s messing with my head.

i need a hand to hold my own,
a reason to stick around,
because people like me often
wind up six feet in the ground.

victim or survivor?

he ripped my clothes off,
whispered threats in my ear.
i cried and screamed and begged
for my daddy to have been there.
 
he took my dignity
and left me with shame,
he left me with bruises,
and left me with pain.
 
i could’ve told you i’m fine,
but i would’ve lied.
victim or survivor?
i just can’t decide.
 
soon it will be three years
since my life made sense,
three years since i had this
memory to battle against.
 
i wake up in the middle of the night,
reliving the worst day i’ve ever had,
everyday is worse than the last,
i wish i was only sad.
 
i could’ve told you i’m fine,
but i would’ve lied.
victim or survivor?
i just can’t decide.

a castle with four walls

i resides in a castle,
well-guarded by the four walls
that i have built over the years.
the walls made of the bricks of feeling,
of fears and insecurities.
 
when people remark on my beauty,
i laugh at them, because i reside in a castle.
and they are simply just patronizing
me, my ego, my fragility,
trying to break through the walls.
 
when people tell me it was not my fault,
i laugh at them, because i reside in a castle.
and they are simply just comforting
me, my ego, my fragility,
trying to seep through the cracks.
 
when people say that i can survive the past,
i laugh at them, because i reside in a castle.
and they are simply boosting
me, my ego, my fragility,
trying to slip past the guards.
 
when people say that i have a future,
i laugh at them, because i reside in a castle.
and they are simply encouraging
me, my ego, my fragility,
and they can’t understand the walls.
 
i reside in a castle,
well-guarded by the four walls
that i have built over the years.
the walls made of the bricks of feeling,
of the past and the pain.

like this one

i used to be obsessed with the idea

of rhyming poetry…

back when i was obsessed

with the idea of perfection.

now that i’ve realized that

i am simply not perfection material,

my poems cease to rhyme,

and are scattered and unrelated,

quite whimsical and ridiculous.

like this one.

it’s me

originally, this conquest for a therapist

consisted of my mother wanting me to want help.

then i became interested in the idea of help,

and now i can’t find one i like or trust.

and after seven or eight different shrinks,

i’ve come to the realization

that maybe it isn’t them that i don’t trust,

it’s me.

silence and permanency

the library is quiet,

quiet enough to hear my own thoughts.

which i would rather ignore.

the thoughts of who i was,

who i am, and why i’ve changed.

i would prefer to stick to the

maybes, the shoulds, and the woulds-

the past and the present

and much too defined.

much too permanent.

and permanency has never

been my thing.

i would much prefer

the library to be loud.

its silence allows my to hear myself.

and i’d rather be deaf

to my own thoughts.

A Rough Couple of Years

It’s been a rough series of events,
Over the past few years.
And I’m only sixteen.
Sixteen ain’t so sweet.
Neither were fifteen, fourteen, or thirteen.

In fifth grade, I found bulimia.
Two years later,
Anorexia and I were best friends.

In eighth grade, I lost myself.
And took 200 Advil,
To find myself, of course.

Then they told some lies,
that I didn’t tell them.
Which took my father
Away from me.
Then he came back.

But the next year, I recovered
From my battles with food. Against it.
It was the hardest thing
That I had ever done.

A few months after that,
Some guy named Dan
Knew how weak I was,
When even I didn’t know.
That was the end of my childhood.
I had transformed into a victim.

Two months later,
I relapsed with food.
And was admitted to a psych ward.
Oh, the psych ward.

There, they told me I was Bipolar.
But medication would fix everything.
So I took their fucking medication,
And eighty pounds later,
I threw them under my bed.

Now I’m stuck.
With the issues with food,
The thoughts that I don’t act on,
The nightmares about Dan,
His hands all over my body.
And the eighty pounds.
Which I think are killing me the most.

It’s been a rough series of events,
Over the past few years.
And I’m only sixteen.
Sixteen ain’t so sweet.
Neither were fifteen, fourteen, or thirteen.

Three Little Words, Nine Little Letters

Three little words, Nine little letters

I’ve been told that silence is the essence of pain.
And that sometimes it’s simply impossible to be sane.

I never believed them, the clichés that had been used.
But then again, I had never been so invisibly bruised.

Silence is the essence of pain and keeping my truths inside
is destroying my life and drowning me in lies.

I know it’s unconventional, for me to want to tell you.
And I’m fully aware that it’s possible you already knew.

But I needed to hear me say the words in my own tone,
and for someone to hear them besides me alone.

This isn’t something that I want many to know,
And I understand that this is quite a secret to bestow.

Please understand that I’m trusting you not to expose,
But also that it’s supposed to help when someone else knows.

I chose you because you’ve always listened to what I’ve said,
and because you never judged the chaos in my head.

After you know, I’m praying that I won’t change in your eyes,
and I’m confident that you’d be there if I needed you to advise.

I’m not divulging because I want pity or you would want to hear,
rather that I need support and understanding that’s sincere.

So I’ll straighten my posture, force my shoulders back,
and take the deepest breath I’ve had since before the attack.

I’ll open my mouth, and will my vocal cords will vibrate,
Even though I’m ready, don’t be surprised if I hesitate.

Maybe you won’t understand, it’s just three little words to utter,
but those nine letters will be the hardest I’ve ever had to stutter.

My lips will part, and I’ll forget to exhale
long before my battle with words will prevail.

But with the exhalation comes a reminder of your trust,
and I start to cry, and you won’t understand, it’s just…

I
was
raped.

My Silence Lies

My mouth remains closed
for fear of
what will come out
when it is opened.
my silence says that
there is nothing to say
worth saying,
and everything is fine
that needs to be.
but my silence lies.
my silence makes me
the victim, and
my confession would
give me the strength
of a survivor.
but maybe i don’t want
to survive.
maybe that kind of
survival hurts too much.
my silence says that
there is nothing to say
worth saying.
my silence lies.