of studying biology on a pre-vet track, I have finally embraced what my heart has been trying to tell me rather than what my mind and my father have been insisting. For two years, I have found a sense of security in my ability to assuredly tell others what I am studying and what I want to do with my life; however, my confidence began to waver long ago, and I am tired of lying to myself. I may not be able to tell others exactly where I am going or what I will be doing in the future, but I do know that I will not waste any more time trying to be something I am not and do something I am not good at. I know that it is not in God’s plans for me to be a veterinarian and although it is something I truly wanted, I trust that He will set me on the right path. I know that He has bigger plans in store for me than I have ever imagined! I am now an English major, and I am eager to begin a chapter of life that merges my studies and my passion.
With my wrist all painted red
this is the only warmth I feel in such a cold, cold world.
And the blood begins to puddle so dark
that I question if there is any light left within me.
I wipe and I wipe but the gashes fill back up
the way I wish I could refill my happiness.
These paper towels are saturated and there’s no going back now
but the guilt has already set in and overcome me.
I wish the numbness lasted for just a moment more.
Just a moment more.
I cyclically shed this skin
hoping to rid myself of the darkness
but a layer is not enough.
A layer is not enough.
I rip and tear and claw at my arms,
at my legs,
at my chest;
but after all this time I realize,
I’ll never reach my heart.
And the emptiness, the pain, the sadness,
it’s buried far beyond skin deep.
It’s buried deep within the hollows
where I cannot reach.
But I wake up every day
and I hope this layer is the one.
I hope this is the day
where I’ll wash it all off
and I’ll watch the sadness swirl down the drain
with my purple hairs and my leftover mascara
because I don’t just want to be clean
I want to be happy.
I was trapped in the depths of Hell
but it’s something I’d never admit.
And you couldn’t even tell
so the torment would just permit.
I’ve wanted to see a doctor but all I’ll get is a script
and I promise you that medication won’t help me get a grip.
“I think there’s something wrong with me”-
I’ve almost let it slip.
But those are words you won’t comprehend,
and you’ll think I’m just a trip.
So I get faded until I don’t care anymore,
but what happens when that’s it?
I’m lying on the floor
seconds before the pills hit.
You’d think it would be easy,
but it takes more than a bottle of pills and a slit.
All I ever wanted was to kill this pain.
All I ever wanted was to end this shit.
I take a deep breath
but my lungs are filled with vodka
and I’m glad I’m not there because I’d be drowning right in front of you.
My fingers shake as I type words that can’t even explain half of what I’m feeling
and if I could drive home right now, I would.
I search through song lyrics and poetry hoping to catch a glimpse of this emotion that I’m experiencing
but no one strings these words together the right way.
This is where I realize that the spaces between my fingers really were made for yours
and although I lived for 19 years before I was aware,
there’s no going back now.
This is where I realize that I didn’t know what I was missing
and leaving it unfinished was worse than leaving it in pieces.
So maybe we can finished what we started.
Maybe we can pick up where we left off.
I’m ready to write this story since no one else has.
Crimson spotted towels
because I failed myself again.
Three months clean becomes a memory
and it won’t stop flowing.
It won’t stop flowing.
I don’t know how I’ll hide them
but I guess I’ll have to try
and this is my least favorite part,
this is where I lie.
This is where I walk away
This is where I build walls
This is where I pretend I’m fine
It takes me back to the bathroom stalls.
I can form them into metaphors and I can bring these words to life
but nothing can change the horror in my actions
Nothing can make it alright.
I take two steps forward
and one thousand steps back.
These scars are fading memories
but where’s the fun in that?
So I add more as I go
and then I try to erase them too
adding creams and oils and remedies as they vanish few by few.
I take a little time off and I fight my demons well
but no matter what I do
I end up back here in Hell.
A few nice words
for the body, for the soul.
“I’m sorry.”
Opening that drawer releases a screech
because it knows what comes next.
I think razor blades are so shiny because everyone deserves to see his attacker,
even if it is himself.
Especially if it is himself.
My sobs are silent, because what you can’t understand is
the pain has gotten the best of me.
The reason that I do this is not to put myself through more,
it is to prove to myself that I can still feel something.
And I swear to you the fireworks the other night were screaming “stop”
but I just don’t know how.
So I watched the beautiful color spectrum explode in the sky
and I dug my fingernails into the grass behind me.
If life is real, it is here
beneath the soil where the huge oak’s roots intertwine with my essence.
I want to disappear into this oak tree and add 19 rings into the wood grain.
I don’t deserve the rings.
I deserve a screeching drawer and everything that comes next.
Dead and gone.
Not just who I used to be,
but also you.
Your existence. Your life. You.
I thought my innocence disappeared long ago,
when I was nine and I took that first shot of brandy.
But it didn’t.
My innocence stayed in tact until the night you stole it from me.
You stole it from me quicker than any bottle of brandy ever could.
Now, I cannot lie in bed without checking to see that no one else is in it.
Trying to be strong.
Trying to move on.
None of it even comes close to explaining my daily life,
my daily struggle.
When I got that phone call my heart sunk and I’m not sorry that the first thing I thought was “I will never have to see his face again.”
Nonetheless, I was wrong.
I see it every day.
I see it when I can’t fall asleep at night and I see it when I think back to old times.
I see it when I think of my failures and I see it when I feel like I’m tumbling back to rock bottom.
I set the remote down that night and as much as I wish I could rewind and fix everything,
as much as I wish I could put down that bottle of tequila,
you stepped on that remote and it’s been on replay ever since.
I can shower all I want but I’ll never wash this off.
I opened my door for you
but you didn’t come in.
I suppose I’ll leave the key under the mat.
I haven’t slept well in days
And I bet if you licked the blood off of my wrist it would taste like coffee and ink.
Sometimes when my pen meets the paper, it flows like the tide off the Bethany shore;
but sometimes, it meets too many kinks in the white abyss and refuses to go on.
All I truly want is to share my time with someone wonderful while I try to create something wonderful.
All I truly want is to force these words and ideas out of my head so the right side of my brain will stop pounding.
The truth is, I admire you more than I despise myself
and the words that come out of my mouth often sound like thunder rolling.
Everyone is used to the storm that follows.
But I’m hoping that one day, there will be no storm.
One day, the words that come out of my mouth will sound like the birds singing a song.
And what will follow will be sun-kissed petals blooming out of yellow lily buds.
One day.
The definition of coping lies within my bones
and it hollows them out until there is nothing left.
That’s when it becomes impossible to stand up.
I cannot tell you that the struggle is gone.
Cardinal, Garnet, Crimson.
Red is not my favorite color, but it’s the one I’m most used to seeing.
And it’s always
so
warm.
But inside it turns me cold and my heart tries to fix the deficit,
but it only beats slower until I believe it’s finally stopped.
Perhaps it is trying to trick me.
Perhaps it thinks that if it plays dead, I will stop obliterating myself.
But
I
can’t.
The gashes feel like space,
which I need so desperately at all times.
But sometimes I think I have too much.
The scars feel like hatred
and I guess hatred feels like calm.
I guess hatred feels like home.
I know how to conceal my problem
but how do I conceal a broken soul
because I promise you I’m a beautiful glass vase demolished into pieces
and the worst part is that those pieces are so sharp and so perfect that they just lead to more scars and I can’t recuperate.
Cardinal, Garnet, Crimson.
Everywhere.
