I break
Down deep in my bones
Fractured
Hurt beyond repair
Whisperings
Lies spewed in my ear
You
The cause of my pain
My personal terrorist
Everyone loves you
Do they know
The person behind the jokes
The true pain you feel
They don't know
I do
I truly know you and you can't bear it
So you kill me with words
Forever a sadist
I will always care
But you have no regard
You just hide
Crippling me with your lies
Crippling yourself with your hateful eyes
Paralyzing a chance of love with your cynicism
Monday, June 3, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Rigmarole (For Cassie :D)
The
pristine white snow shrank underneath Rigmarole R.'s black heavy leather boots
as she walked out into her frigid backyard. The date was January 21, 2020 and
the position of Prime Minister of England had just been appointed to Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, a man of the people and a man of change. In his first day in
office, he made a decree that all citizens of England were to have a skin
pigment change in order to make a visible sign of who was or wasn't a citizen
of England. Your skin color described two things about you, your occupation,
and if you had served in the British military. Rigmarole's color was royal blue
with a slight hint of gorgeous flickers of gold. The blue showed her
occupation, botany, the study of plants, and the flecks of gold embedded in her
skin represented her military time as a colonel in the army. The first thing
that she thought of after the surgery was that she looked like a mishap at
Willy Wonka's factory. But she had grown to tolerate her abnormal visage.
She examined her surroundings, a habit she had
picked up from her many years at war, but never truly had used since, and then
bent down to check on her newest abnormal
plant find. The frozen beauty was called the Kerouac plant, and was
rumored to have magical qualities. The largest being that if it was taken
proper care of and produced its first fruit, it would bequeath a golden nugget
underneath its roots. However, the plant could only thrive in the coldest
winter climate. Rigmarole looked at the plant. It had a beautifully tragic looking gray flower, covered in dew
and freshly fallen snow. But betwixt the petals of the dim flower, a small,
fire-engine red fruit was hidden. A playful, giddy smile lit up Rigmarole's
face and she went in search of a shovel. She carefully dug up the plant, being
sure to keep the roots secure and intact, just in case of any issues and placed
the Kerouac into a pot suitable for this fine specimen. She then looked into
the hole and saw a glimmering lump of gold smiling back at her. She reached
into the chasm and snatched up her prize, hoisting it into the air, eyes locked
onto this spectacular treasure. Then she heard a disgusting noise, like a man
clearing his throat with disturbing force. Her eyes darted over in the
direction of the hideous noise.
“Hello, my dear.” The creature that
made the noise declared.
It was a small man with orange curly
hair and a wispy beard of the same bright shade. He was wearing an all green
ensemble that consisted of a top hat, a suit, and buckled, pointy-toed shoes.
“Who are you?” Rigmarole asked with a
confused and disturbed look on her face.
“My name is Young Neil. I am here to
collect your stolen gold that you hold in your hand. You see, I am a
leprechaun. Now could you give me my gold please? I don't have all day.” He
replied in an Irish dialect.
“Your gold?!” Rigmarole shouted, “I
have taken care of this plant for three years. What makes you think that you
deserve it? I'm the one who worked for it! And what makes you think I'll give
it to you? You can't do anything to me, you're what? Three feet tall?”
He chuckled at her question. “Can't do
anything hmm?” he retorted. Then he began to grow taller. He soon towered over
Rigmarole's house and his small chuckle turned into booming, sinister laughter.
“My dear Rigmarole,” he whispered under his breath, “I can grow to any size and
have done awful things to many people for less important reasons than your
precious golden nugget. I would not cross me if I were you dear.” A speck of
his saliva had launched from his lips during his speech and landed on
Rigmarole's forehead, and in that one instant her entire face had changed from
her abnormal shade to its
original shade of alabaster white. Her facial expressions had changed from
dazed and confused to furiously angry and disgusted in a matter of seconds and
Young Neil just continued his laughing while he shrank back to his original
size.
“My dear I have a proposition for you.
I know of a riddle, and if you answer the riddle, you may keep the gold,
however, if you choose not to answer, or answer incorrectly, I will keep the
gold for myself.” He said, with a sly secret in his eyes.
“Do your worst.” She replied.
“Very well, What is greater than God,
more evil than the devil, the poor have it, the rich need it, and when you eat
it, you die?” He asked.
She racked her mind for the answer,
but could find nothing. Wait a second, she thought, nothing is greater than
God, nothing is more evil than the devil, the poor have nothing, the rich need
nothing, and when you eat nothing, you die!
“The answer is nothing!” She
exclaimed, proud of herself.
“Well done my dear,” he uttered
through his teeth, “however, I cannot let you keep the gold. I suppose I lied.
Aw shucks.” He said flatly and without feeling.
Rigmarole's head felt as if it were about to burst, and her
eyes stared daggers at this demon standing before her. How dare this thing show
up at her home, lie to her, and try to steal her hard earned treasure! Well she
was about to show this hideous monster who was boss. She thought of the war,
and her training, and what her golden sheen that had been so rudely taken from
her represented. She stood with her head held high and her chest out and
approached Young Neil. She then bashed her clenched fist against his head, with
so much force that it knocked him down to the snowy ground. She looked at his
small body lying in the snow with her balled fists poised on either side of her
face, prepared for a brutal fight. The disgruntled leprechaun looked up at her
and tried to stand up and face her. She rushed over to his cold and crumpled
body and took his head between her hands she looked him deep in his eyes and
snapped his neck.
Rigmarole woke up the next day with
her golden treasure right where she had left it the night before. She wanted to
shut out the memory of the events of the previous day entirely, but she also
needed to find out a way to dispose of the remains of Young Neil. She made her
way outside to find the shovel in order to bury the leprechaun's body, but when
she stepped outside, there was no body to be found. The only abnormal things
that could be seen in the snow-laden ground were the two golden letters
engraved in the earth “YN” and the Kerouac plant with pulsating bright gold
beams of light around it. Then Rigmarole heard the disgusting sound yet again,
and three terrifying words. “Hello my dear.”
Poem 2: Freind or Enemy
I was your friend and you pushed me away
Now you mock me and expect me to be OK
I am not some thing that you can just throw out
What the hell is this friendship even about
Do you really believe that I don't care
That everything I do for you now is just empty air
To you I am some idiot, some girl that doesn't know
But I really am the reason why you can't let go
You see yourself a princess, I see the wicked witch
You can turn from brains and beauty to the devil in a switch
I am not your little minion, I will never be the same
But I promise you because of that you won't forget my name
You see me as an imbecile, some dumb pathetic girl
However I am Superman, and I can change my world
You see my faith as weakness, a cop out so you say
But my belief is saving me, no matter what you say
So go ahead and mock me all you want,go ahead and brag
Because I will not ever again live as your punching bag
I see who you truly are you frenemy of mine
And I can't wait to see you here in ten year's time
Now you mock me and expect me to be OK
I am not some thing that you can just throw out
What the hell is this friendship even about
Do you really believe that I don't care
That everything I do for you now is just empty air
To you I am some idiot, some girl that doesn't know
But I really am the reason why you can't let go
You see yourself a princess, I see the wicked witch
You can turn from brains and beauty to the devil in a switch
I am not your little minion, I will never be the same
But I promise you because of that you won't forget my name
You see me as an imbecile, some dumb pathetic girl
However I am Superman, and I can change my world
You see my faith as weakness, a cop out so you say
But my belief is saving me, no matter what you say
So go ahead and mock me all you want,go ahead and brag
Because I will not ever again live as your punching bag
I see who you truly are you frenemy of mine
And I can't wait to see you here in ten year's time
Gaurded (If you saw me you would never guess prompt)
If you saw me, you would never guess how crazy I truly am. I look "normal", just a teenage girl. Look at me and you see blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin and pristine nails. In that moment you see a human Barbie doll. However, inside I feel like G.I.Joe with PTSD. I haven't experienced an intense traumatic thing or anything like that, I just am constantly in a state of paranoia. Why should I feel paranoid? Normal kids don't feel paranoid, or at least not like this.
It wasn't until I was in my first true depression that the stress caved in on me. I felt like an invisible hand was literally pounding on my back, like punches. My anxiety envelops me and chokes me, and this led to the panic attacks, which drag me into a pit of crippling depression that I cannot escape from. My parents don't believe me. They think I'm just a silly child. I don't blame them. There is no reason for me to feel this, my life is practically perfect.
The funny thing is that because my friends can't read my thoughts or see the internal battle that is waging in my mind, they often say that they are jealous of my life. They really wonder why I laugh at that statement.
I have attempted suicide a total of nine times now. No one knows. No one sees what I do, and I don't want them to. This is not for any one's benefit. I don't try to end it all for sympathy, it simply seems like the only way out. I don't try to hang myself or anything gruesome, I don't want more pain, I want escape from it. I take painkillers and go to sleep, welcoming death silently. However, no matter how many pills I take, I never even end up sick.
During the sleep, in my dreams, I see a man, but not a normal man, he is a human form, made entirely out of light. I call him the bright man. Every time I get close to death, he wakes me up. When he wakes me up, I no longer feel the depression choking me, he is the only thing that frees me. I have stopped wanting death, now what I need is the bright man to wake me up. I am going back in tonight, and I will see what the bright man is.
I place a bottle of pills in my hand and down the whole thing, chasing them with a bottle of water. I walk to my bed and lie down. I close my eyes and prepare myself. In my drug induced dreamland, I see a distant figure. It is not my bright man, but a tan skinned woman, with flowing blond hair. I open my mouth to speak to her, but she fades away. Everything is melting away from me, it is getting dark, when suddenly, a burst of light removes the existing scenery, replacing it with a white room.
"Stop this Carrie." The bright man whispers.
"What are you?" I ask quietly.
"A friend." The bright man responds as he lifts me up, carrying me like a child in his arms.
"No, what are you?" I ask again, loudly this time. I look at his face and he places me on the ground, turning away. His light is dimming, as is the whole room.
"Carrie, I'm not even allowed-"
"Please, I have to know!" I plead. His light has dimmed completely now, I stand in darkness.
"Carrie, please don't do this to me. Just let me help you. You are slipping away." I close my eyes.
When I open them, I am standing at the foot of my bed, looking at my sleeping body. Am I dead? Is this what death feels like? It still feels like I'm dreaming. I look to the right and see the bright man, dressed in full armor, beside me.
"What is going on?" I ask.
"You are looking at things from a new perspective, mine to be exact." He says.
"Is your perspective always positioned at the foot of my bed? Or just while I'm asleep?"
"I am always watching you Carrie."
"Oh yeah, that makes me feel very secure, uber bright gladiator man."
"This is my job, Carrie! I have to watch you at all times because you can't protect yourself from yourself. You should really thank the 'uber bright gladiator man'. Without me you would be just another victim of another crime."
"How is watching me sleep helping me? Who do you think you are?"
"I am your GUARDIAN, Carrie!"
"What?"
"I'm your guardian angel. Everywhere you go, I am always right behind you, protecting you from harm. You still have so much that you can do Carrie, I can't let you ruin your own destiny by ending your life. Technically, I'm not allowed to revive you, but I do. I feel greatness inside of you Carrie, I can't let you throw that away." He reaches toward me and grasps my hand, he looks into my eyes.
"So, you could have just let me die, and would have been done with me?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't?"
"No."
"Why?"
"If you allow yourself to persevere through this, you will do beautiful and wonderful things for our world."
"What if I can't persevere?"
"I will always be with you, to guide and push you."
"Why me though? I'm not stable!"
"No human being is stable. You all feel the pain you are currently feeling, some just deal with it differently."
"But I-"
"Carrie, stop making excuses for yourself. You doubt your abilities and give up, but you have great potential. You can impact your world, if only you see that death is not an escape, but a dead end. The only way to end the pain is to push on through it. I can't choose your path for you anymore. Give up and fall into eternal blackness and pain, or wake up and do what you were destined for." He faded away and in that moment I decided my fate. I closed my eyes.
When I woke up, I saw my life for what it truly was. I was no longer being trapped by depression and anxiety. I was no longer paranoid because I knew I had someone on my side. Instead of feeling like I was being beaten, I walked tall, knowing that I was guarded. Now, I knew that I was ready to live life, not just fake happiness.
It wasn't until I was in my first true depression that the stress caved in on me. I felt like an invisible hand was literally pounding on my back, like punches. My anxiety envelops me and chokes me, and this led to the panic attacks, which drag me into a pit of crippling depression that I cannot escape from. My parents don't believe me. They think I'm just a silly child. I don't blame them. There is no reason for me to feel this, my life is practically perfect.
The funny thing is that because my friends can't read my thoughts or see the internal battle that is waging in my mind, they often say that they are jealous of my life. They really wonder why I laugh at that statement.
I have attempted suicide a total of nine times now. No one knows. No one sees what I do, and I don't want them to. This is not for any one's benefit. I don't try to end it all for sympathy, it simply seems like the only way out. I don't try to hang myself or anything gruesome, I don't want more pain, I want escape from it. I take painkillers and go to sleep, welcoming death silently. However, no matter how many pills I take, I never even end up sick.
During the sleep, in my dreams, I see a man, but not a normal man, he is a human form, made entirely out of light. I call him the bright man. Every time I get close to death, he wakes me up. When he wakes me up, I no longer feel the depression choking me, he is the only thing that frees me. I have stopped wanting death, now what I need is the bright man to wake me up. I am going back in tonight, and I will see what the bright man is.
I place a bottle of pills in my hand and down the whole thing, chasing them with a bottle of water. I walk to my bed and lie down. I close my eyes and prepare myself. In my drug induced dreamland, I see a distant figure. It is not my bright man, but a tan skinned woman, with flowing blond hair. I open my mouth to speak to her, but she fades away. Everything is melting away from me, it is getting dark, when suddenly, a burst of light removes the existing scenery, replacing it with a white room.
"Stop this Carrie." The bright man whispers.
"What are you?" I ask quietly.
"A friend." The bright man responds as he lifts me up, carrying me like a child in his arms.
"No, what are you?" I ask again, loudly this time. I look at his face and he places me on the ground, turning away. His light is dimming, as is the whole room.
"Carrie, I'm not even allowed-"
"Please, I have to know!" I plead. His light has dimmed completely now, I stand in darkness.
"Carrie, please don't do this to me. Just let me help you. You are slipping away." I close my eyes.
When I open them, I am standing at the foot of my bed, looking at my sleeping body. Am I dead? Is this what death feels like? It still feels like I'm dreaming. I look to the right and see the bright man, dressed in full armor, beside me.
"What is going on?" I ask.
"You are looking at things from a new perspective, mine to be exact." He says.
"Is your perspective always positioned at the foot of my bed? Or just while I'm asleep?"
"I am always watching you Carrie."
"Oh yeah, that makes me feel very secure, uber bright gladiator man."
"This is my job, Carrie! I have to watch you at all times because you can't protect yourself from yourself. You should really thank the 'uber bright gladiator man'. Without me you would be just another victim of another crime."
"How is watching me sleep helping me? Who do you think you are?"
"I am your GUARDIAN, Carrie!"
"What?"
"I'm your guardian angel. Everywhere you go, I am always right behind you, protecting you from harm. You still have so much that you can do Carrie, I can't let you ruin your own destiny by ending your life. Technically, I'm not allowed to revive you, but I do. I feel greatness inside of you Carrie, I can't let you throw that away." He reaches toward me and grasps my hand, he looks into my eyes.
"So, you could have just let me die, and would have been done with me?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't?"
"No."
"Why?"
"If you allow yourself to persevere through this, you will do beautiful and wonderful things for our world."
"What if I can't persevere?"
"I will always be with you, to guide and push you."
"Why me though? I'm not stable!"
"No human being is stable. You all feel the pain you are currently feeling, some just deal with it differently."
"But I-"
"Carrie, stop making excuses for yourself. You doubt your abilities and give up, but you have great potential. You can impact your world, if only you see that death is not an escape, but a dead end. The only way to end the pain is to push on through it. I can't choose your path for you anymore. Give up and fall into eternal blackness and pain, or wake up and do what you were destined for." He faded away and in that moment I decided my fate. I closed my eyes.
When I woke up, I saw my life for what it truly was. I was no longer being trapped by depression and anxiety. I was no longer paranoid because I knew I had someone on my side. Instead of feeling like I was being beaten, I walked tall, knowing that I was guarded. Now, I knew that I was ready to live life, not just fake happiness.
Freewrite 2
I really hate this. This aching feeling in my stomach that makes me want to throw up. They say that its ok, but it isn't. Everyone is leaving me, and I stay. I want to run and get as far away as I can. I crave travel and fame. Am I able to get those things? No, it seems like I am stuck in the whirlpool of suck that is this town.
Maybe college will be different. Maybe then I won't feel so guilty about wanting something better for myself. Is it bad that I can see myself in front of a crowd of people, bringing something to them that they had never thought of before? Is that bad? Am I selfish for wanting these things? Can someone please explain to me which desires are beneficial and which are superficial? I question everything about my life now. Am I good enough? Is this right? Do they get it? Then I have to pit myself against my peers and compare us. Look at her body, I could never be as beautiful. Look at how she moves, such grace I will never have. Listen to that voice, how could I ever compare?
I become envious and I fester hate for them simply because they have talent or beauty or something I feel like I don't. I now want more than anything to be better! I have become obsessed with bettering myself because I am finally being praised and appreciated for my work. All my life I have spent my time pointing the great things in my friends out, and I shied away from my talent and beauty. I never took the advice that I gave to my friends because I never believed that I deserved it.
By encouraging others, have I been silently killing my own self esteem? I build the people around me up, and in the process, I tear myself down. Though I dole out these words of affirmation, I never get my own. People don't see that I need to be built up as well, and even if they are happy, and I am smiling, inside I am weeping, mourning over the loss of my confidence and assurance.
I am confident in one thing, my voice. I have found the one thing in this world that can makle me feel beautiful, talented, intelligent, happy, and satisfied. When I sing, I can conquer the world, but then people tell me that I am getting a big head. So, I lower my self esteem again and I feel like nothing. Why can't I be confident and proud of myself? Is that cockiness? Why is this such a bad thing?
I understand that my talent can get to my head, but I earned this respect for myself. I work day in and day out singing my ass off, and that is a bad thing now? If I'm not good tell me, but if I am,,. why can't I have some pride in what I do? I will not be satisfied with little. I have big dreams and I will accomplish them. Call me cocky all you want, I will not stay stagnant in this little town for the rest of my life.
Maybe college will be different. Maybe then I won't feel so guilty about wanting something better for myself. Is it bad that I can see myself in front of a crowd of people, bringing something to them that they had never thought of before? Is that bad? Am I selfish for wanting these things? Can someone please explain to me which desires are beneficial and which are superficial? I question everything about my life now. Am I good enough? Is this right? Do they get it? Then I have to pit myself against my peers and compare us. Look at her body, I could never be as beautiful. Look at how she moves, such grace I will never have. Listen to that voice, how could I ever compare?
I become envious and I fester hate for them simply because they have talent or beauty or something I feel like I don't. I now want more than anything to be better! I have become obsessed with bettering myself because I am finally being praised and appreciated for my work. All my life I have spent my time pointing the great things in my friends out, and I shied away from my talent and beauty. I never took the advice that I gave to my friends because I never believed that I deserved it.
By encouraging others, have I been silently killing my own self esteem? I build the people around me up, and in the process, I tear myself down. Though I dole out these words of affirmation, I never get my own. People don't see that I need to be built up as well, and even if they are happy, and I am smiling, inside I am weeping, mourning over the loss of my confidence and assurance.
I am confident in one thing, my voice. I have found the one thing in this world that can makle me feel beautiful, talented, intelligent, happy, and satisfied. When I sing, I can conquer the world, but then people tell me that I am getting a big head. So, I lower my self esteem again and I feel like nothing. Why can't I be confident and proud of myself? Is that cockiness? Why is this such a bad thing?
I understand that my talent can get to my head, but I earned this respect for myself. I work day in and day out singing my ass off, and that is a bad thing now? If I'm not good tell me, but if I am,,. why can't I have some pride in what I do? I will not be satisfied with little. I have big dreams and I will accomplish them. Call me cocky all you want, I will not stay stagnant in this little town for the rest of my life.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Poem 1: Little Words (so much teenage angst)
Am I just another girl to you?
Do you even care?
These little conversations between us
Confusing me
Uplifting you
Just saying words
You stand as I fall down into that pit of you
I thought I had filled it
But it was a trap
I want to say how much I care
But where are the words
So I just laugh
And you smile that perfect smile
For a moment I wonder if you have fallen too
The smile fades
I soak in our little words
Are they nothing?
I'll never know
I just sit here in my room and think of you
Hoping that you think of me too.
Do you even care?
These little conversations between us
Confusing me
Uplifting you
Just saying words
You stand as I fall down into that pit of you
I thought I had filled it
But it was a trap
I want to say how much I care
But where are the words
So I just laugh
And you smile that perfect smile
For a moment I wonder if you have fallen too
The smile fades
I soak in our little words
Are they nothing?
I'll never know
I just sit here in my room and think of you
Hoping that you think of me too.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Freewrite 1
Isn't it frustrating when you have a really great day and then one minuscule thing ruins it completely. I try really hard to be a compassionate person. Whenever I do something right though, something else just flies into my face and blocks out everything, forcing me to completely focus on the negative. Then I just get so worked up about it and my entire day is in the trash.
I really am not a violent person. I just get so angry sometimes. Some days I can control it, but others... The other day I literally almost punched one of my good friends in the face, and why? Because she said "You're stupid."
Simple, but so very aggravating. I understand that some days I have my blond moments, don't we all? But if you straight up say that I'm stupid, I will become very angry and imagine myself killing you in many different ways in my mind. That's my therapy I guess.
I really hate being so angry, because it pushes people away. It pushed my brothers away, and now I barely know them.
People push me too far. They don't undertstand that I'm a ticking time bomb I guess.
I really am not a violent person. I just get so angry sometimes. Some days I can control it, but others... The other day I literally almost punched one of my good friends in the face, and why? Because she said "You're stupid."
Simple, but so very aggravating. I understand that some days I have my blond moments, don't we all? But if you straight up say that I'm stupid, I will become very angry and imagine myself killing you in many different ways in my mind. That's my therapy I guess.
I really hate being so angry, because it pushes people away. It pushed my brothers away, and now I barely know them.
People push me too far. They don't undertstand that I'm a ticking time bomb I guess.
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