They are there
They are there
I think it is ok to feel. Yet there is no way I will allow myself to.
I hold myself to a different standard. Something not shared by those I love. I think it is ok for others to be open but I will never let myself to conform. Emotions are easier when they are locked in a box. No one is hurt when no one is there. I can show you some expressions but I can make it reach my eyes.
I have been told that I am a liar. That it is best to be truthful. But I am not ready to share that side of me. Probably because I lost the key. I bet that it is someone in my childhood. The one that I talk about with a smile on my face. Look closer you may see some cracks. But not yet, right now I am able to speak. Listen when I say that there is a chance that I will never give in.
I hide my emotions because it keeps them safe. I rather suffer in their place. I rather sit by and watch the emotions and in their eyes and know that they are blessed. They are worth it. They are precious.
I am not and I do not think there is anything that can change that.
I cut along the hemline
To see what color it would bleed
A creature for the textbooks
A case of wicked dreams
I cut when no ones looking
To see what color wells
A creature for the future
Of dreams left unseen
I have spoken a curse
As I lay in bed I begin to think of all the reasons I may have failed today. From sleeping in till noon. To ignoring my daughter as she gives an extensive recap to the movie we just finished watching…for the fifth time this week. I don’t think I am doing enough but what else is there to do? The school work that has since piled up? The text messages and phone calls that never came should probably be returned. But will I? Probably not. I do not think that I will change.
Admits all of this turmoil I do not think that I can. It is a blessing really
Or rather a curse.
For here sit complaining about my lack of action as if it is the fault of someone else. Maybe it would better if it was. The blame doesn’t sit right in my skin. Woo that line. Please refrain of harping at me if I happened to use it in a poem. I am a very petty poet with angsty dreams and one must never stray from ones comfort zone.
But I digress.
I think it would better if I do not speak such curses outloud. Keep them bottled up inside and try to appear normal. That is the goal we all share right? Be normal
Exude such normalcy that it becomes instinctive to the soul.
Curses only hurt those who…
Oh who am I kidding
Normal is boring…
Bring on the pain.
I made this blog as a way to work through my own emotions. But there are times when I wish I could something a bit more meaningful. This is not one of those times. Today is a different day. A day in which I truly do wish to die.
I think about it often enough but overall I am scared. I think that is because I might possibly actually want to lie and it is the pain and depression that I suffer with that I want to go. But every Avenue leads to more depression and more suffering. I have people I talk to but it seems as though I have to constantly update them on the fact that I have not gotten better. Because as soon as I do something that seems a bit abnormal they fight back with “Oh what but I that things were better now”
No, but shall I wear a scarlet letter upon mine breast so that you may see that I am, in fact, quit ill.
But if I were to send them updates they will do something drastic. Like take away my child and deem me an unfit parent. Or go out of there way to make my life hell in other ways. Such as sending me to the mental ward of a nearby hospital.
Which, mind you, I have been to those hospitals. Enough times that I could probably teach a class within it. I know the material by heart and am currently going to school for psychology and social work. So really how exactly are any of these supposed to help me or make me trust others.
Instead I wish people would listen. I want them to actually sit down and talk to me and help me build a plan. Hold me accountable yes, but also make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.
I am almost positive that I want to die. I crave not feeling anything anymore. But I can’t do that to my little one. I can’t ruin her life for the sake of my own salvation. Instead I will suffer along hoping that someone takes the time to listen to me.
I think it sounds beautiful, the screaming. I want you to keep begging. Even the score between husband and whore. Come! Let me make a man out of you. One all the little boys and little girls can look up to. Scream a bit louder so the neighbors can hear. Fight a bit faster so they can know you feel fear. Because I want to make a man out of you. Society may judge me but they will never stand. You, a pathetic creature, have proven yourself a half man. So yes, let me hear you. Let me feast on your tears. No one will help you because no one else cares.
I wanted you to fight for me…but I can see that I will never be enough. Between the blood and the lust there is a gun just out of reach. I thought that you would need me yet here you are. Lying at my feet with wounds I don’t think will ever heal. I am almost certain that this isn’t even real but I see it. I feel and still breath and can smell the fact that I am not…I am not enough. I was never meant to be. I figured you would fight for me. Figured you would try just a little more. But between the blood and the lust I think I can see. I think I can truly see just how much of it wasn’t meant to be.
A/N a little dirty ditty for the ladies. Honestly this makes no sense. I may edit it soon.
Did he who made the lamb make me
Or was it a mistake of unseen force
Crawling along the dirty ground
Hissing, protectively, over a dented crown
Did he smile his work to see
When he first laid eyes on me
Did he dare touch in wonder
The greatest visual of his blunder
When the heaven opened up with spears
And swallowed their pity with their tears
Did they water me with grace
Or did they turn from the greatest mistake
Credit to William Blake for being a genuis with a pen and paper (Inspored by (Tyger, Tyger) . Please do not look on me to harshly for ruining a great piece of art.
“Negative” I wonder outloud to a foreign crowd of my forgotten brethren
They speak some vows and turn my way
Noticing the privilege I proclaim
The twist of my hips
The turn of my lips
The graceless way I speak out of turn
I know that I am not one of them
With my too brown skin and my too black hair
Kinked up readily to face the wind
“Negative” I proclaim with a sneer
For deep down inside
I know that I am not welcomed here
But I hide it with a haughty stance
One hand on my lip and the other on my chest
My blood was never going to be enough
My twisted tongue can’t speak those vows
Spoken outloud by a foreign crowd
But I am going to go on pretending
That my black will matter here
I wonder about the glue
That binds your little soul to me
Will it hold steady as you age
Or will it slowly fade away