Work In Progress

Erase the thoughts that began it all;
dim the lights that flashed as guidance.
Cut excuses from wrinkled paper,
paste them to the scrapbook,
a collection.
Snip anger from a patchwork heart -
steal the fog from the air as I breathe.
Blow coal dust from lungs trimmed with diamonds,
run off of the path that was lined with gold

into a blockade of stuttering thoughts.
Shred the canvas whose paint-doused brush has
damned light to live beneath
a cracked layer of black.
Kill the shadows sewn to my feet,
blindfold my conscience and
send me to war with the pen and the pad.
Bend iron bars erected to imprison
curious eyes sunken into eternally-eager faces.

Wash caked blood from delicate hands.
Remove vanity from the lips of oppressors,
join hands to form a finger-woven barricade
against the sharp blow of our brutal reality.
Use a broken compass as guidance
towards everlasting divinity.

Recipient: Little Rita

I dreamed to be here my whole life, since I can remember. I worked myself to death to get to the point where I was confident enough to audition. And I finally made it. Now, however, it feels like I don't want to be here anymore, and that hurts a lot. When what you've worked for literally your whole life feels like it has no meaning to you anymore, it kills a little piece of you inside. It killed the little girl inside of me. She had big dreams for me; she more than anyone else. She did all the work to get the future half of herself to where she knew she had to be. Now, I feel like I'm destroying the path that she paved with my own selfish decisions, and I am so sorry. I can't tell her that I"m going to change overnight, but I hope she knows I'm trying. From now on, what I do, I'm not doing it for me. I'm not doing it to pacify my mother, I"m not doing it to satisfy my teachers or my mentors; I'm doing it for her. She deserves to look at me now and know that she struggled and bled, but it wasn't in vain. This is for her.

Erupt

Control is something I no longer have.

I am all blaze,
and my heart is the source of this heat;
charred on the surface but churning beneath with molten lava,
pumping ashes through my veins.

My chest explodes in flames
just beneath the skin,
and the fire climbs down to my gut,
cooling into a glassy block of obsidian.

I can't control the course of the heat,
the weight of this stone,
the numbness I feel as it sits
compared to this churning fire.

A glass of cold water
makes the burning subside;
leaving me with a
solid stone for a heart and

debris for a mind.

Anxiety is a bitch.

My Own

I don't know who I am anymore. I feel trapped in my own mind, with my own actions. I know the things I do, and I know that sometimes, I have no particular reasons for wanting to do so, but I need to stop. In the process of "doing what I want," I lost any sense of who I actually am, and now there is talk. Talk that I am the person I'm cutting myself out to be, but I know that I'm not. But I also know that I'm not exactly the same person I was before any of this. I'm horrified, because now everything that I said before is contradicted by my own actions, and at this point, it feels like I have no control of them at all. I wish there was a way I could fix this; this feeling, this situation. Words can't reverse my actions, but at the same time, I did nothing on the line of wrong. I did something "I wanted" a long time ago, but now I'm getting the backlash. If there was really any love to begin with, there would be some understanding attached, but apparently all those words were lies, too. I'm lost within myself, and I wish I could remake all of the decisions that got me to this point. But I'm simply on my own to move on, hopefully learn from this, and never do the same stupid thing again.

Don't Judge Me I'm High

Funny how life can change things so quickly, that just by looking back on yesterday makes you feel like you're reminiscing. Life goes in so many different directions at once, constantly shifting itself to you for a moment, and away from you all the rest of the time. In a span of 24 hours, it feels like my life has changed so much, thinking about the things I did just a few days ago, over the weekend, it feels like in that time, I was almost another me; a less mature one, one who didn't know what she was doing with herself those three, four days ago. When in fact, I don't even have a clue what I'm doing with myself right at this moment. Writing a blog post instead of a two character scene. So I suppose you could say that the things that change throughout a couple of days have either increased or decreased my maturity level by a fractional percentage, but I'm still pretty much the same person. My perspective has just shifted a tiny bit every day, based on my experiences.

Vendetta

As I walk these halls again, I feel an overwhelming surge of frustration. The people all around me, talking, yelling, screaming, laughing; I feel an undefined but definite hatred for them all. Distractions. That's all they are. Someone behind me in the line to success, trying to knock me out of my place. The same people who laughed and criticized when I fell out of my place on my own. I want revenge -the real, burning kind, that makes you feel great and awful at the same time - but the revenge I plan to execute is a lot more effective. I will rise. Above all the people who doubted me before I even tried, the same people who preferred to watch me struggle in the water, drowning, instead of extending a hand. So I don't give a fuck about any of the people or what they're doing, who they're talking to, where they go. I'm about to be on mine, with my head up in the hallway and my eyes down on my work in class, ignoring their disposition. This is my year.

Angel

He was a mystery to me. Always quiet, eyes fleeting, to himself. He was usually very distant, so I never bothered talking to him. He didn't talk much, so I just assumed he was too shy to strike up a conversation with. Although I didn't really know him well, however, I found my own eyes flitting towards him involuntarily, searching his face for any sign of  something he might want to say.

When he dances, something inside of him that's been dying to come out floats to the surface, is visible with every beautiful step. He doesn't have to worry about the words he's trying to say, or whether or not he stutters; every word rolls fluidly through his movement, his body communicating everything he's been so reluctant to say. Every move is so sure, and his touch is confident, nothing like the hesitant hands that occasionally catch mine.

Reminder

Everything I see now is only temporary. I have to keep telling myself that. As I ride the waves in the hallways and watch everyone move to and with their cliques, I stand alone, and a lot of the time I feel like I'm cowering within myself; trying to mask the longing I have for a group that can make me feel welcome. But I know I don't need a group, and I don't need to feel welcome. Because as the people around me meld together into one, they become their own distraction, as one. They make the choice to breathe together and to move together and, potentially, to fall together. So as I stand alone, and strive alone, bleed alone and fight alone, I know that I will succeed alone, as well.

For Fear

Deep within, I feel desire turning over in my mind. I know what I'm doing and I don't, but I know, either way, I should be able to make it through. This feeling is awful and terrific, taking over the core of my heart and the center of my mind. Lust is something hard to control and is often mistaken for real feelings of the more internalized type. I don't ever want to cause anyone any pain, but I can't control my feelings, and I damn well can't control anyone else's. But I'm aware of my actions and how reckless they are, and I know that my mind is traveling to a darker place, where I don't know how to tell the difference between what I really want and what I feel I must have. I could simply recite the stupid mantra that my generation feels hopelessly tied to - YOLO - and continue on with my thoughtless behavior, but I've never had the upper hand when it comes to my suitors and their emotions, and I'm not such a horrible person that I would hold someone's insecurities in my palm and my mind just to disregard them and use them to my advantage. I could never be so cruel. I wish I could say, outright, what's on my mind. Maybe if I could, there wouldn't be so much of their blood on my hands from the blows that I have no control of. But I must remain silent, for fear of shattering them completely and for fear of disregarding my own dignity. For fear of dissolving the facade I've built from the beginning of the timeline to now.

"I'm addicted to hurting."
-EDEN

Summer Heartache

He's still mine. My body and my heart can both agree with that. This boy is still mine, and I own that every time I touch him. He flew with me through the summer and soccer and wracking up as many blunts as we could before the sun set. We'd smoke at the abandoned playground by ourselves, wait for the sky to darken so we could soar through this city of twinkling lights, enjoying the eyes that shift awkwardly from the contrast of out faces to our locked hands. I sometimes wish that I could have that feeling back. We did everything together, and then some. When the world tried to separate us, we found each other. He'd show up at my window and throw rocks, and I felt like his little princess when I'd look outside and see him smiling up at me. I miss this boy, but it's impossible to really even miss him if he's still mine.

Sequel

Flip to the first chapter of the sequel following summer love, see I've found strength and preparation. I've found familiarity in your voice, in your eyes, in the palm of your hand where you've kept my heart all this time. Your apology bleeds at the edges of my fingertips, your words scrawled in your own blood, and I am far more than just grateful for your stubborn sacrifice to allow me some closure. The anxiety that I feel only when you are near swells, but for some reason it doesn't make me squirm the same, make the tears well up the same, make my heart quicken it's pace the same. The feelings are more tolerable, but I'm still slightly uneasy, and I don't know how to react to anything. It feels almost like everything felt before, minus the stress of worrying; who's he with when he's not with me? Why hasn't he said anything for so long?

Easy

There's something hauntingly familiar about the feel of him; like every groove, every inch has already been under my palm's inspection. This day a tribute to the salvageable memories, we trip down the path to remembrance and reluctant forgiveness, unlocking our minds finally to reminisce the day-old love born about a year ago. I breathe him in, his scent both comforting me and tipping me over the uneasy edge, all at the same time. An eerie thought slides into my mind; who is this boy? I'm feeling a bit insane here, wrapped in his arms, but though we're skin-to-skin, my armour clings tighter to my body and to my heart, protecting me, smothering me. The lines he traces on my body with his fingertips outline the imprint he has on my forever, his lips a luscious reminder that he will never be completely gone. Away from his allurement, his hypnotic words are all lies, sweet lies that I wish I could believe, but I know that I can't. This superficial love lives on within me, still crosses my mind at least one time a day, will always echo through every fiber in my body, no matter how hard I try to expel if from my history. It feels like here, in this room, on this day, we are reliving every peaceful and lustful memory, and it feels like a huge screen of my own past love that I watch from outside of a fogged window.

Midnight Lullaby

Black wings trimmed with gold tread across a violet sky, carrying a heavy reality that will be worn atop the head of a goddess. A goddess who glides through the city streets beneath the mask of night, her face a gorgeous constellation of the brightest stars from the farthest worlds, galaxies woven into her hair. She is doomed to search the city for a comfort she will never find, so she flies, above the rooftops, and the sorrow that she's buried deep inside. She wears her reality as an onyx crown above her conscience, and all her thoughts are painted black and gold. Her flowing dress of deep purple and black ripples across the sky as she soars through the night in search of love.

Thoughts Of A Father I Never Knew

Old Man,
It's been about a year since we last really talked.
Even longer since we last stood right outside your door and knocked.
Of course, there was no answer,
Now we're subbing in our tears with laughter,
And now our hearts are beating faster, until they just stop.
Wishing it could be the end of this chapter, but I know that it's not.
Praying it all would just cease to matter, but I  know it won't stop.
Old Man, I'm distraught, exhausted from this war that I've fought
And am still fighting,
So I lace my pain in writing, lack of love biting,
Head filled with voiceless thoughts.

No, I never thought you could destroy me,
Tears I cry for you exploit me,
You left me all alone and empty;
Devoid of the love of a man who I learned would never be there,
The spot that I saved for you will stay bare,
"Man, fuck this shit, I don't even care, no more!"

Wish I could say these words and mean them,
But the perfect father, I still dream him,
Keeps his promises, don't breach them,
Three words, "I love you," he repeats them,
Close my eyes, when I sleep I meet him,
Hold out my arms, but I can't reach him,
It's just no use, you'll never be him.

I Wrote This On An Algebra Test

I've found that, regardless of what you do and how hard you try, eventually, you're going to change. I've struggled with the thought and the concept of me changing for years, now. I'm afraid that someday, I"ll turn into someone I don't want to be, or someone that I've promised my whole life I would never become. And yet here I am, failing pretty much every single class I'm taking, regardless of my vow to myself to always put school first. Marijuana and seduction becoming a larger part of my life than the things that I was once convinced mattered more than anything in the world. They tell you people change, but they never tell you whether or not it's going to be for the better. That's the part you end up accidentally falling into on your own. And now, I'm trapped in a mind full of horrible decisions and temptation, broken relationships that I swore would last and pending anger. And all I can really do is hope that somewhere at the end if this phase, I will be able to find myself again, finally beyond all the negativity that I, myself created.

Mad .

Chased him away. That's where he went; away. Chased by the nagging voices of three of half of him. Until he dropped off of the surface of the world they were living in completely.

Two were sleeping. One rose from words that were blushing lies on the horizon, back lit by sunrise and the determination to prove false affection wrong. The determination to prove that being alone and awake was far more painful than dreaming on their mattresses of basic confusion.

Trying to fall back to sleep. But the one never could. Eyes staring into pitch blackness, laying still, paralyzed by thoughts that won't leave. Not like he did.

Tears are roughly smudged away. An avalanche of feelings from mind to heart, and daybreak just becomes another line in the tally of "days gone." The one's eyes go blank. The two's eyes remain closed.

Toss and turn, springs creak and hearts ache. Sitting in the corner of the room that starts to spin, trying to remain as still as possible as emptiness begins to churn, getting thicker until it's a struggle to breathe. The bigger one of the two's eyes flutter open, looking into the thick darkness bubbling in the air, only to close their eyes again and pretend to be swallowed by slumber.

Cracks of light slide underneath the door, but only enough to cast horrid shadows over the rest of the room. They sway to the rhythm of a gone heartbeat, they pry at the edges of their souls. Until the third opens their eyes and goes completely mad.

stay away from her .

Why? Why when someone is completely happy (finally), and they feel content with everything in their life, do you have to appear out of no where? Shattering the fantasy that they've adopted into reality? Stay away from her. You are poison, and she isn't stupid enough to drink the same arsenic twice. You're finally out of her system, and now you're trying to force yourself down her throat again? She's finally in a lighter place, and you're the shadow who continues to try to follow her around. Just leave her be.

A Lovely Implosion

A warmth like no other envelopes me when I'm in your arms, radiating from within. I rest my head on your shoulder, close my eyes, and I see shafts of light sliding up the walls of a dark room as the sun rises. I open my eyes and see your eyes, feel the press of a faint smile on my cheek and the rain starts to pour. Tides turn in my belly, waves crashing, washing up onto the shores of my heart. I nestle my nose in the crook of your neck, and I feel myself begin to unhinge as your sweetness tumbles through my nose and my breath hitches and I spring up onto my toes and our lips barely brush then my heart.
                    Just.
                            Stops.

I'm Done Feeling Guilty

Everything has been scaring me lately. Like, I'm so paranoid about losing something that I finally have, it's crazy... I don't know what to do anymore, how to feel. It feels like I've been ruined. I will never be the person I was before, thanks to one person in particular and a series of horrible events. I'm just going to try to let myself forget, because there is no use sitting around wishing I had done things differently.

The Color Of Words

Are your words sincere? This is a question worthy of asking. Even more worthy of being answered, but with actions instead of with words. Show me I'm beautiful, make me believe it with each hand held and kiss dealt. Because words have become a false art, abused by people who manipulate to get what they want, using words to do so. Thrown like weapons at an enemy, and so words have become sharp and yet somehow dull; meaningless. Make these words sweet again, as if given a black and white picture and you have a pack of crayons; color me in with these words, let them be sincere. Let them last forever.

Gone.

Sinking slowly beneath the surface again, but one thing I learned from the last time was how to hold my breath a little longer. The word "depression" means so much and so little. To me, this is sort of a long term thing, or condition, something that lasts longer than other fleeting emotions. So I've also learned that I shouldn't use that word without really thinking about it's true meaning to me. Depression wasn't something that you could just stop. It had a momentum to it, like it was a huge boulder rolling down a hill at top speed. What kept that boulder rolling was the fact that the side of the hill it was on was angled downward. So the only thing you can really do to stop it is to try to push it back up. Depression wasn't something you could always easily identify, either. It was something that slowly set in, like really thick concrete drying. And by the time you realized that this was indeed what was wrong with you, that this was why you slept too much or too little, that this was why when you walked through the hallways at school, you felt like you were floating through a sea of souls, headed toward your ultimate demise, that this was why every time you tried to write something, the words were all tangled and confused and hurt and every feeling you had bunched up inside of your mind and your heart would get lodged behind your throat and make your eyes sting with tears. This was why. It was depression the whole time. The depression that made you cry. The depression that made you bleed. The depression that made you just a silhouette of the person you used to be. And now, now that I'm back from that dark space in my mind, I finally understand what was happening to me. And now I'm glad the darkness is gone.