Untitled (Poem #163)

How have I not driven you mad?

I still think of him and feel so much…

So much anger,

So much sadness,

And so much love

I feel like a top spinning off of a desk falling for something I will never believe in.

My body my life?(Poem #162) 

I think it’s funny how it’s always my life, my responsibility and my body Until there’s a fetus involved then it’s up to everybody

“She should keep it”

“she’s too young, she’s too scared”

“that whore got what she deserved”

“look at for the prego over there”

They cast judgement faster their Instagram likes

Give hatred a winky faced smile than walk on right by

Glorify the body positively of a posted half naked in the right light

But throw shade on me when I am sitting here fighting for a life

I’m drowning in silence, as the two stripes appear

How am I gonna tell my father

Will it’s father even be around here

I’m screaming through my silence,

then my voice cracked and shakes off the fear the option to get rid of it seems the only thing that is clear

That is until I felt

The very next day; I threw up in the bathroom then turned and walked away

Is this my baby and my child or the worst mistake of my life,

Where’s a god when you need him,

I need to take control of this fight

Days turn to a week and my visions getting blurry

My belly starts to stretch, and needs to make this discussion in a hurry

I walk into that clinic,

confusing my tears for rain,

hold firmly to the table and for once in my life pray

Walking out of the clinic was even harder than walking in

I refuse to look in mirror

God where do I begin

All I wanted was some refuge

A helping hand at most

But what I got was hatred and silence,

so much judgement it slit throats

A beautiful baby girl laid down her own life,

I cut my own wrist because I was the little girl that died,

Society gave me no choice

But instead gave me a double edge blade

Told me to grab on tight,

Told me they would support me, do what’s best for my life

Then gasp in surprise as I was bleeding out

Tell me doll is this what pro-choice and pro-life was supposed to be all about.

Your own story…(Poem #154)

There is something beautiful about owning your own story,

Whether it breathes magic of fairytales,

or fire of tragedies.

I promise you if you ask I will read some of mine to you,

Page by page,

Chapter to chapter,

I’m a pretty open book.

But my story is mine to bare,

And only my hands can handle the delicate pages the right way.

View my story like a diary,

If I open it up to share with you,

don’t take it take it for granted,

and rip the pages out at the seam

so you can claim that you “have this one friend that went through this and they…”

No!

If I wanted everyone to know my story I would have become an actress

Or hired a reality TV show to make a story of the shit show that is my life.

But I didn’t,

I shared it with you,

So carry it with care,

Take it out when you want to remember who I am,

because one day I will be gone,

and all you will have left is that story,

that memory of me.

So ask me to read a chapter from my life,

and I will tell it all to you,

because someday my chapters will end,

and my story will be over…

The end.

 

The right way (Poem #152)

I’ve always struggled,

to find the right words,

or the right way to show I care,

or the right way to speak about pain,

or the right moment to express myself,

or the right way to hide just enough of me that I don’t get hurt,

or the right way to fall in love,

or the right way to dance on eggshells for others,

or the right way to place my hand upon your face that you can’t feel mine tremble,

or the right way to smile so shyly that it looks like innocence but it really simply fear,

or the right way to kiss a stranger and make them feel like it means nothing yet means everything,

or the right way to not feel,

or the right way to say I forgive you when really the ache in my heart says I won’t forgive me,

or the right way to sit across the room from someone I love and tell them I am happy for them when my world is falling apart,

or the right way to say I’m simply not hungry when really hunger doesn’t come close to how I feel,

or the right way to say just enough that you will believe me when I say I am ok…

I’ve been training myself for years…

for the right way to pretend to be me,

but the right way isn’t working anymore,

and I am helplessly lost,

with no right way to go,

or no right way to fix this and move on,

and I am starting to curse myself,

because the right way used to seem so clear,

but now the right way is filled with the fog of tears,

the dew of sadness,

and the raindrops of despair,

even though the clouds are filled with emptiness,

it is still raining,

and in the wind I hear it,

saying that the “right way” is what lead me right here…

I wish to be made (Poem #110)

If I could be made of anything,

I would not choose

gold or silver,

diamonds or chrome,

nor granett or steel.

For no one desires to fill every waking moment with such hard material.

Yet I would not desire

to be of feathers,

or silk,

or suede;

for those are delicate and hidden away until a truly gentle moment arrives.

I would desire to be made of something common,

yet beautiful,

while still strong enough to stand on it’s own,

and gentle enough to kiss the face of a child.

I wish to be made of the only material that holds something strong enough to wear on past the date it expires.

I wish to be made of something so unique that it could never be remade the same.

I wish to be made of the only material known to man which can hold the world in balance for another human being.

I wish to be made of flesh.

Forward is the only Option(Poem #88)

I feel like a broken record,

spinning of it’s track.

Like a railway car,

that wants to turn back,

but has figured out that the tracks I have been on have fallen apart,

and that forward is the only way to go,

even if it is into a tunnel,

without any sign of an end,

pushing forward is the only option,

til you reach a dead end……

Balancing Act (Poem #73)

Life isn’t a simple thing,

and it is all about balance.

The balance between sorrow and joy,

light and dark,

pain and happiness,

pride and humbleness,

Success and integrity

Self-love and self-sacrifice.

And to this day,

I haven’t found that balance,

but the things is I think your goal in life is to balance it all,

but the moment you truly start to live is when you accept that you never will be able to.

Maybe it is about the story…(poem #49)

I want to start this by saying this:

DEPRESSION SUCKS,

LIKE A LOT!

But if it has taught me anything,

it is to cherish every moment that you feel,

not matter the emotion,

cherish it,

embrace it,

and remember it,

because feeling something is better than nothing.

What if that is the whole point of going through this?

To learn that it isn’t necessarily about always being happy,

but about knowing what it means to feel happy.

To learn that life won’t hand you glass slippers and a carriage,

but rather that you will have to go out and get them,

and it will hurt,

and you will want to quiet,

but you can’t,

because before the clock strikes midnight you will see all your work play out,

and you will feel alive.

You see,

life is just like your own book,

you can’t just skip to the happily ever after,

because well there is no garantee there will be one

unless you work for one,

and some chapters of your story are going to be scary

and hurt

but that is because you need some character development in order to be ready for the next page.

Sure you will get paper cuts,

fill pages with tear,

but that is the fun of reading,

you feel so much that you can’t wait to see what the next page holds…

Life is just like that,

it’s about the journey,

and in the end that is so much better than any stupid fairy-tale happy ending if you ask me.