What would life be if only to end up as a pile of dirt; stepped upon and forgotten within one generation. With guilt attached to my grave. That's not what I want my life to be measured up to. So remember me by the ocean at the sound of the seagulls laughing. After you’ve climbed the tallest mountains, feel my breath run down your spine while standing at its peak. Watch me burn with the leaves in the fall and rise again to bloom in the spring. That is how I want to be remembered; not in the dirt by a stone that will be lost amongst the rest. I will stay live in the breath of the mountains and in the crashing of the waves. You will hear me roar against the rocks and never be able to forget the ferocity of my heart. So spread my ashes in the places that made me feel most alive, and that my friends is how I will never die.
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In a chase
to find something bigger than myself my destiny my truth I run away from the grasps of hands only trying to anchor me still. I scream to the moon begging her to shed light upon the path I am supposed to take. But she remains silent. Only watching me with her millions of sparkling eyes in the sky. And so I run I crawl I do anything I can to find the thing whatever it is on this earth that sets me free. Not from society or the world, but from myself. From my mind, of chaos & destruction exploding in my head. A beautiful tragedy. A pitiful yet exquisite story of self-destruction of sabotage betrayal humiliation. But from the dirt, I am growing. Amidst hurricanes and tornadoes I may wilt but I refuse to die. I refuse to be buried by my own transgressions. So again, I scream at the moon, "Can you hear me now?!, I'm not dead yet!" My legs stand firm They have gotten me this far. What else is there left to do but run. My heart burns with curiosity,
Seeking something bigger than myself. Only satiated by undiscovered horizons, I seek the comfort of the unfamiliar. A nomadic soul, some would call it, Running from the chains of complacency, Refusal of settlement. But although I may always be roaming, Home is never far away. Because home to me is wherever I am at peace. And my peace is in the clouds, In the mountain tops of New York, floating over a way in Asbury, Or running my feet through the sands of Jacksonville. I am a daughter of the King and I am at home wherever I lay my head in this world that he has created for me. For he built my eyes to see his magnificent work. What is a life lived, If only stayed in one spot? Am I afraid to be tied down
or to be unleashed? Opposites attract within me. Like sparks fusing together To ignite an engine. My existence is paradox, An unsolvable mystery. I am an enigma even to myself. Cursed to roam this earth Searching for answers Across this unforgivable world. Climbing mountains, Running with wolves, Drowning my soul in every ocean, Chasing hurricanes, Staring lions in the eye, Begging them to tell me the answers To the questions that enslave me To far too many sleepless nights. For you see, I am a slave to the stars, Cursed to nights of terrors That exist within me. I can't even escape from myself. Because sleep betrays me each night. With only the moon as my witness, All I can do is scream. At that point what else do you have left? The moon will never fight back, She will never ease your pain, Or validate your frustrations. All she will do is listen, But maybe that's all I need. I've spent my whole life questioning, Running my mouth, reading, talking, singing. I have never stopped to listen. Maybe that's just it, My answers are in the silence. Maybe the moon is actually my friend, Maybe she's given me the answer all along. I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, but it was no longer the curves of my body that sent shivers down my spine. It was the empty, heartless eyes staring back at me.
Somehow along the way she had withered into nothing, like dust retreating into the dark corners of a room. Depleted from the daggers, she herself had dug into her skin. Left shallow and cold by her own indecencies. A pity, really. Just another wasted potential roaming aimlessly along the edge of what could have been, teetering over the cliff, ready at any moment to be blown over into the abyss. It was a shame, what she had become. A sad excuse for a human. Not really living, just existing with the sole purpose to mold into someone else’s shadow. Relinquishing dreams as payment for sins. Desperate and terrified of being alone, for the fear of torment by her own thoughts. Picked apart, burned from the inside out. Who was this girl? Not someone I could recognize. And so when those eyes stared back at me, and the truth finally sank in. I realized not who, but what I had become. And so I fought. I fight. I am fighting my hurt, my brokenness, my losses, and everything bringing pain to the eyes of the girl staring back at me. Because I didn’t want to see tragedy reflecting in the mirror, I wanted to see life. I wanted to see me. It’s a trap. I am a trap. Be careful not to fall into the wake of my turbulent marrow, because not even I have found a way out yet. I am a living paradox; too strong to stay, too weak to leave. Legs to guide me up mountains but with a sentiment to break on the way up. I know what I deserve, but do I respect myself enough to give it? My highs are high, and my lows are devastating. I have a will stronger than any storm you’ve ever seen. It has a power to drown cities of men and all my enemies but not before drowning my lungs with each and every one of their screams. With a desire to run wild, to never be seduced by any temptation that tries to tame my soul with its disillusionments, but a heart that always pulls me back to the wolf at shore crying to the moon. A heart that will break with any goodbye, soft to touch, easy to crush. I have constructed a body of thick amour to protect my thin skin. Try to break down my walls I dare you, but if by the chance I take them down for you, I beg you, touch me with merciful hands. I am not a fighter by choice, just a soldier too afraid to die. A walking contradiction, stuck between what I know is right and what I can’t help myself from. My bones are made of iron, but my heart is made of glass, so please don’t throw stones at my walls. They are closing in, suffocating the fire that used to illuminate my soul. How do you swim with a body out of proportion? My will can’t carry my heart for much longer. How does one exist with a strong mind and a fragile heart?
This poem is for her,
The girl inside me That refused to give up. Who never stopped Swimming when the Storms were relentless. This is for the girl In me who knew That there was a Life out there that Belonged to her. One where she Was in control. This is for the girl, Who believed In magiv when Darkness conceived her. Who did not abandon Her faith at not just The first, but many Long nights of Hoplessness. This is for the girl Who survived. Who knew that She wanted and Deserved more For her life Than what this Trauma had shown her. I owe it to Her to make Something beautiful out of my life. So every time I succeed and Every time something Goes right in my life Today I think back To that girl, the girl Who gave me once More chance and Say, "This is for her." I am new.
A reinvention of what Once was broken. I have built myself From the ash In which I was burned. LIke Gandalf the grey Becoming Gandalf The white. See the new me can Make jokes And laugh And not care if anyone Doesn’t understand. For the new me Doesn’t need Validation to Feel whole and Complete. For i have built A garden full of The wildest flowers That you called weeds. They are my home And I lay in them And fall asleep. I water them So they can grow. They are beautiful And because They are inside me, I am beautiful. I can finally see That now. I don’t need you Or anyone else To tell me so. I am beautiful Not despite my pain, but because of it. And for my struggle And in my darkness. Because despite, All this ugly, I have made Nothing into Something. And my darling, There is nothing More exquisite Than a girl Who can Finally recognize Her worth. The greatest triumphs in life aren't
found at the top of the podium, or line of a paycheck. They are in the moments when you discover that maybe life isn't about all the gold and fame, that maybe all you need are the legs beneath you to carry you through the day and the lungs that fill you with air And maybe if your lucky enough that arms of another to make you feel loved. But at the end of the day, these are the beautiful things in life, and with them, you are enough. My mind wages war with my body.
My heart says violence isn't the answer. My body takes each attack willingly. I say, a life bound to a reflection Is not a life at all. Yet the war wages on. I am branded with marks of defeat Scars of my indecencies stain my skin. Every blow steals the wind from my lungs I’m losing strength with every strike. The battle is far from over I am a prisoner of war. Hope is a foreign language That I don’t know anymore. A slave to a monster that cant be Seen, heard, or found. But I can feel him, cutting holes into my heart So I know he must be real. Who would have thought That I’d be the one to fall At the expense of my own hand? People talk about
the love, the sun holds for the moon. How the moon can not shine without the sun's light. Romanticisng that dependency is beautiful instead of enslaving. But I do not want to live off the light of another. I want to shine from the fire that I create inside of me. with my own light, and not depend on that of another. I am me, all on my own. And look how beautifully I shine. traveling ghosts we skim across the water, not dead but a sad excuse for being alive. running from the darkness that threatens to consume our souls. who knew even ghosts could be haunted by demons of their own? it's a scary world out there. even our greatest fears have nightmares. what does that mean for the rest of us?
Silly girl,
you hold your head up high like it actually means something Like the bones in Your back aren't breaking, like the light in your eyes aren't fading silly girl, the burdens you carry aren't disguised by the smile glued to your face. You think holding back your tears and finding comfort in your pain makes you strong but oh silly girl, the inside of your stomach does not count as your dinner and all the miles you run won't ever be enough to hide from the fears biting at your heels. oh silly girl, you're never going to be good enough in the eyes of your enemy. you're wasting away your hair is falling out your body is shutting down, your stomach is turning inside out. silly girl, look at where you are, sitting in a puddle of your regrets. it's 2 am and the kitchen floor never felt so numbing to everything you're holding inside. oh darling, let it all out the pain, the fear, the hate. let it fall with the tears in your eyes. for all the skin you have lost from your bones, you have lost so much more from your heart oh silly girl, my darling girl was any of it worth it? for what is life worth, if you have a skinny body with only a skinny soul? my darling, have you lived to see beyond your reflection in the mirror? To understand that your smile holds more value than the number on a scale but oh silly girl it was never about weight and you know that you say you deserve the pain to pay for the crimes you have committed. silly girl, you still can't see that life is more than one mistake. you are not perfect, and that's what makes you human and that's what makes you beautiful. So my sweet silly girl, love yourself for all your flaws, all your pain, and all your mistakes. You are a beautiful creation, the full entirety of you. You, my darling, are not silly but strong. I thought I was brave for holding on.
Holding on when there was nothing left. When the last bit of you had gone months before (or maybe had never been there at all). I thought I was being strong for not giving up on the words I had promised. Yet I learned later, the bravest thing I could have ever done was to let go. Here I am,
cocooned inside my blankets of guilt. lights off, air cold. Empty bag of skinny pop under my bed. I can feel my stomach churning in protest, scolding me for my crimes. I can hear my mind telling me to take it all back. I can feel my hand at the bottom of the bag, one setting. What have I done? It's ironic. The alleged promise "skinny" guarenteed to me. But I do not feel skinny can I have my money back? I try to tone out the skinny voices screaming in my head, but I only wrap myself tighter in the blankets of my guilt. I can already see myself checking for traces of not so skinny pop in the morning. In my head I'm already skipping breakfast and lunch. Because, if I am to eat said skinny pop, I have to be skinny. It's supposed to make me feel skinny, so why do I feel like my stomach might pop? The thoughts grow louder. I bury myself deeper. My ears are popping from the screaming. Skinny pop already making it's way to my legs. I tuck the covers between my thighs to prevent skin on skin contact. I can feel them popping beneath the sheets. My not so skinny thighs reacting to the bottom of the bag of skinny pop. I crawl out of my guilt, maybe it will help me breathe. I go to the trash, unwrinkled the bag. 4 servings per container. Recommend skinny = 1.5 cups. 1.5 x 4 servings = not so skinny, skinny pop which = not so skinny me. I throw the skinny on the ground, but it flutters because unlike me its weightless, it's empty. I step on the skinny. I step all over it, skinny is weak because I took its strength. Skinny cannot fight back, now that not so skinny, has a not so skinny heart. I have found home in your eyes,
from across the room. You do not need to speak for me to know that I belong wherever you are. And when our eyes meet it is like I have known you all along. I know your story and you know mine. And when you walk up to me, you say, 'I have been waiting for you my whole life." I know you hold vessels
behind your eyes. And in those ships you carry the pain of your abandonment and the scars left on your heart. I can feel when they come close to your shore, and I can feel when you pull them back to sea. But I want you to trust me. Ground your ships in my harbor. I will hold them for you. I'm not promising for a cure to your sadness, but I can promise you an escape, at least maybe for a little while. We can run away together. I can pull you up when you feel you may drown. We can forget your ships while we are free. And when the time comes for you to return to sea, I will help you steer your ships. I want you to trust me. I know I leave hurricanes
wherever I walk. I drown things and people in my wake. And I'm sorry you got caught in the showers of my storms. At night, I pray that you came out in one piece, because I know how much you were afraid to drown and I know how you never quite learned to swim. I am in love with new beginnings.
A pallet of fresh paint on the untouched canvas. That is my life. That is why I find the sunrise, so much more beautiful than the sunset. Full of oppurtunity and wonder, full of mistakes yet to be made, And promises yet to be kept. You are the author of your sky. It is up to you, how you paint your canvas. You're a galaxy away as
we study our sky. I only wish I could shine bright enough for you to see me and wonder the meaning of my constellation. Sometimes I don't know what drives me.
I just feel this enormous weight pulling me, in every direction that the wind can blow. Like a wave playing tug-of-war with the shore, trying to find its way back to the sea. This pull, it moves me, And I have no choice but to chase it. And so I run, I run as fast and as far as my legs will carry me, chasing, chasing this inanimate thing. I run blindly into the abyss. I don't know whether it is good or bad, and frankly I do not care. All I know is, if something is strong enough to move not just my body but my soul, it is worth chasing. I run because it makes me
feel like I am burning alive. Like I am about to die. I run until I feel the flames in my legs erupt into smoke in my lugs. I enjoy the pain, in fact I encourage it. Because when I feel as if I am about to die, I also feel like I am most alive. I don't fall in love with things
that don't last. That is not what I want. So you, your body? No I do not love that. I fall in love with things that last forever. Like the sun that lights your soul, and the wind that blows your breathe away. Because when your body is old and ugly, your soul will still be beautiful to me. You have stars in your eyes,
but dust on your heart. Brush off the darkness, and reveal your sun. It is fire and ice trying to coexist in the same room.
It is a room full of teenage girls when Justin Bieber takes his shirt off. It is New York City without cabs. It is llamas running around Times Square. It is a line full of pregnant women at a restroom with one stall. It is chimpanzees in the fruit section of Walmart. It is third graders who have just been told Santa does not exist. It is Feminists at a Trump Rally. It is fireworks at an airport. It is a herd of buffalo in the subway, or a snowstorm in Nassau. It is teenagers with a bucket full of condoms. It is the color orange. It is an open bottle of cherry wine in the living room section of IKEA on a Saturday afternoon. It is a room full of puppies who have to go outside. Chaos is my heart when your eyes meet mine. |
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AuthorThese are a collection of various pieces of poetry or short stories that I have written over the course of the past year. Obviously I am no Emily Dickinson, but I enjoy it. It allows me to put my feelings into words in a beautiful, artistic, and abstract way. Archives
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