mental pain may or not lead to mental clarity
if we allow ourselves to become defeated by the audience, then we will not be casted in the next season. if we allow the shallow minds of others deteriorate our soul, then we will be stuck watching reruns of ourselves. from the star of the stage to a couch potato. react with caution. respond within, and not outwardly. silence is not cowardly if the outsiders are the one's throwing rotting fruits at our window. Instead, stand behind the glass, have a giggle, and walk away
I find it hard to display my mind’s mess on a canvas, so writing has been put off for months now. I weep internally and soak my organs. My lashes never wet. My beating heart is drowning in tears that are saltier than the sea. Pickled heart. One that’s been broken and repaired only a handful of times. A delicacy for the rich.
I dream of open doors, keeping my anxiety at bay. Doors that shouldn’t be open. During a private act, these doors won’t shut; exposing me to strangers. Exposing vulnerabilities. Exposing my hot skin and terrified eyes. Mouth agape and sweat beating down. Someone take care of this for me. Do you know a guy who has some extra locks? Extra hinges? Can someone glue this door shut so I can get a moment of peace? So I can look myself In the mirror and scream in peace? Can I just scream in peace?
The psychological warfare that my deteriorating brain has to face on a daily basis is causing too much harm to fix. Can we fix the harm we inflict on ourselves? Can we even fix ourselves? Can, for one fucking minute, I get a hold of myself? Can I hear myself? ME. Not you, Anxiety. Not you, Overwhelm. No. Not you, Overstimulation. And especially not you, Dissociation. I don’t want to hear any of you speak anymore. A choir of poison. A pack of hunting wolves. Bleeding from their gums from biting too damn hard. I wish there was a way around this crowd; this toxic, manipulative crowd. “They’re trying to keep you safe”, my therapist has said. But, what’s so safe about staying in a box that’s wet, withered, punctured? I’m toxic by default. I’m overflowing with worry. Too many bad things are consistent. Too much time has passed to break these cold conditions. I don’t know when I heard myself last, for doubt always seems to conquer.
Put A Little More Pressure
I'm staring the barrel straight in the eye
wondering who would ask around if I were to die.
I have to stop replying to the sky
in a way that doesn't resemble my pride.
Counting the minutes, the seconds, the time
playing fetch in the dark with my poisonous mind.
A basket of saddness and numbness and grime
I pointed this gun to the dirt when it mimicked your cries
A sound I can only console if I were alive.
I Run From The L Word
Head wrapped in thorns and flowers
'cause selfishly, I’m all I want.
I swear to the heavens and the hells
that my heart is blind to sentiments.
I run from the vulnerability and commitment
that most crave.
Death of my own kind
I do not tear,
but collapse into pot holes
stuffed to the brim with sigh and shrug.
most are dealt the Queen of hearts
themselves to the symbolistic face value.
To them, love is a card.
I flip it over and shuffle
to regain composure.
The only time I pick up a deck
is at parties, in which I remain nameless,
where my mind runs on empty.
and I'm off to the races
with a torch in my hand
and thorns in my hair.
I love you, and then I don’t.
I miss you, and then I don’t.
I need you, but I don’t want to.
In a pair of ripe souls,
I am sour.
You are sweet.
I try to keep this balloon up
in the air
and my heart sinks with every inch
closer to the ground.
It’s exhausting, trying to remain afloat.
It’s exhausting, running from the sadness.
Darkness is around every corner.
No matter how bright your light is
I am still the dimmed and broken one.
I captured her soul
in a teeny glass bottle,
knocked it back
to the wall of my throat
and swallowed her whole.
There wasn't much left
I withered her down
like a naked winter tree;
slowly losing color,
miraculously shedding the leaves
that kept her warm.
My stomach bubbled
as a woman's screech
leaked from my pores.
Petting my cheeks I said,
"You are where you belong,
you are the marrow to my bones!"
My life depended on
poisoning her mind; a social experiment.
Now, here she plays
as an extension to my wicked blood.
I seal my mouth shut
on this cold, tile floor.
I sleep with these eyes
after the threats of war.
The war beneath my crown
that grants me all the death.
Following the sound
of my sleeping gun
I shed the layers
of grusome wounds
into the pockets
of my newfound self.
of what she's overcome.
The bass creeps in
and hugs my bones.
I cover my goosebumps
with his body heat,
slowly flutering my eyes open
towards the sun’s entrance.
She introduces herself to me
and tugs on my eyelids.
into our sheets
I welcome her
as she welcomes us
to yet another day
of new light.