I am made of many souls in just one body

so at times it gets confusing,

to feel everything at once

i think fall hits the hardest … you could scroll the Pinterest feed everything is methodically about how autumn is life after death, but the truth is—sometimes we break gradually, sometimes the break is like glass, and we can never be put back together.

I hated how my sister smelled, wrapped around my neck and suffocated me in her scent, creating a thick opaque fog, hazy over my head, engulfing me in the faint presence of a shadow of her. As I grew farther and farther from her as each day passed as I didn’t engage in this childish game of make-believe making up memories with my sister, the hole in my chest growing bigger each day, I hadn’t been in my sister’s room since five years ago.

I missed the way I used to lay on her carpet waiting for her faint arms to wrap around me and whisper gently in my ear that she loved me, as much as I loved her even though I didn’t know, for I truly believe the not knowing wasn’t what was eating me inside; it was the fact that loving her was an allusion (someone I didn’t know), that is what hurts me more—I don’t even feel I deserve to even mourn her , this is why I sleep with my eyes open because those are the dreams that I can’t even control whereas nightmares occur when I close my eyes in the dark and I have dreams of my sister that feel so real only to wake up to the piercing reality my sister isn’t here.

My sister used to hum the song where it goes I am just a falling angel trying to find my way back home. Sometimes, we have to visit the dark places to heal. I opened the door to my sister’s room and opened the door to her closet and let myself grieve where no one could hear my tears, and the walls closed around me and the shut out the world. I reached my hand in the back of closet and trying to hold myself from the walls closing in on me and I felt a box scrape against my hand drawing a jagged line through my hand, it’s unsteadiness felt like plastic, it’s translucent fragility deemed it plastic. I dipped my hand inside to steady myself, my hand fidgeted around the tips of journals, my hand fidgeted against the bumpy covers, sparkly, flowery, pearly covers; my hand danced around each one. I choose the bright red one with the gold lettering chipped away by time—aged, and desired to be slit with ink to bleed such emotion in order to feel something, in order to contain the urge to rip into the veins of the soul pushed closer to the wall of the box shying away from touch, but gently catching my eye, but so innocently desiring to be noticed, but slowly sinking into the box, blushed and embarrassed at how human or vulnerable it felt.

It reminded me of my sisters wrist, small and slender; the red reminded me of her hair and the gold lettering on the front reminded me of the way she looked as if she was being eaten away by sleepless nights and racing thoughts and the secrets that devoured her, it was like she had gnawed on her soul, to feed the emptiness she felt in her chest, my sister was an artist and her canvas was her pain.

I trembled as I opened her and tried to feel just anything I needed—to be split in half down to the marrow, because a knife just isn’t enough.

10/28/10

__________

Gnawed at fat on my bones Slipped a pill down the pipe And watched it coil around my waist And watched the numbers fall Eyes sunken in my aspirations Of dreams of vogue Became addicted to the way the scale Brought me down the rabbits hole Spiraled out of control Tasted the vomit of my decisions Wrapped myself in disquieting thoughts Of being able to slip my arms around my waist I deep throated the truth I let it sink deeper in my veins and pushed my throat For daring me to vomit Every meal of last year thanksgiving I swallowed the pain because that was the only thing my stomach could handle Just not the truth just not yet

__________

Sometimes, we recede in the closet of our soul because we are scared to be seen as we are broken.

And I was broken, just like my sister.

I tried to heal my broken heart with poetic words of misery because I was tired of feeling. I didn’t want to feel this lump in my throat.

I hated the desire to miss her and allowed myself to miss her without feeling I’d forget her. If I let myself fall into the path of grief, but, I feared even more, I wouldn’t be able to pull myself out after grasping the truth about her, I believe it’s the feeling that kills us not the feeling itself.

Grief was something I wasn’t ready to accept

Chapter Two

I layed in my bed till two in the memory , shivering in the cold opaque air

This is story isn't for the faint of heart. It is what happened when I decided I deserved freedom. If you want to hear than I shall start from the beggining. He had done it right here so many times she could't count that high. Right under her favorite tree. This is where she got her first kiss. Her first kiss was Jonathan Nolan. He was going to be a rocket scientist one day and he had the braces for 7 years to prove it They were 9 years old. This was where she smoked her first joint when she was 12. She got it from a kid named Chris who was a sophomore, she didn't remember feeling anything, but she and her best friend sure acted like they did infront of Chris. When her mom died she was only 14. She passed of breast cancer and this is where she would come to be alone. And cry for what felt like days at a time. Right under this tree was where she lost her virginity. She was 17 and he was the love of her life.

They met when she got a job at music store. She couldn't play anything, but the owner was a good friend of her parents. Well, now he is just a good friend of her dads. So, let her work the register. He didn't sell much. He was far to kind and let everyone rent instruments, or put down a deposit and make payments. Payments he never saw. He could usually tell who wouldn't be paying, but he did it anyway. A grown man came in one day. He was physically everything a girl wanted. He was very fit, but a slim build. Hair was so lightly salted you could taste it. He looked all of 30. Too old for her, she thought. She shook his hand and introduced herself. She remembered feeling like she was shocked like when there is a buildup of static from the carpet and wearing socks, but he didn't react so she payed it no mind. How? How were his hands calloused and still soft at the touch. He wanted a Gibson, but settled for a Fender. If you would call it that. He walked out the door, and like that she developed a crush thinking he would never return.

He did return, however. With his bright green eyes, he practically barged in. Like he was conquering the doors. It had been days since she seen him, Was there something wrong with the guitar. She prepared herself to be reprimanded. He marched right up to her. looked her dead in the eyes, and with a slightly over zealous voice he demanded dinner. Yes, dinner. She was elated. Absolutely. Right now, even. The store didn't close for another hour, but she didn't care. They left, and that was the beggining.

He courted her like any gentleman would. In the beggining. He would bite his tongue and apologize, until he didn't. He would have one glass of whiskey, at a time. Until the bottle felt as empty as she did. Those apologies turned to fists. Until finally he got so mad he thought he had killed her. He threw her limp body in the basement and chained her up. She would either rot in those chains or wouldn't be able to leave him. She woke up. body stiff covered in blood. She didn't know where she was bleeding from, but that is when she knew she had to leave, but first she had to make him believe she wouldn't leave, and even more diffacult. She had to prove to him that she still loved him. Like the green leaves on her favorite tree promised they love the tree only to fall the first gust of wind that frees them. It took months to get her unchained, and even longer to finally go sit under her tree outside. With strict rules of course, right by his side. His calloused hands would grab hers, and she couldn't help but flinch. This angered him everytime. He would than place his hand over her mouth, and he would give her a reason to flinch. She stared at the leaves above her, as he body was violated. He could do whatever he wanted to her body, but her mind was hers and protected her. Made her numb when needed.

I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Kami Madison. I need to escape my boyfriend turned captor. It took me two years to realize he would never let me leave him alive. Took me another year to plan my escape. Yet, here I am. Sitting under the tree I have watched change colors as frequently as I have changed. I have grieved under this tree, been in love, lost my innocence, and been higher than I ever thought I could have, but for the first time I sit under this tree and I finally am as free as the leaves that catch fire in color and fall. People think of fall as the end. The end of summer, and the warmth. I see autumn as the beggining. The beggining of my plan to finally get away from the green eyed monster who raped my innocence, and my now feels foreign body. This is my story and I can finally tell it.

Rise. Rise. Rise up out

of those ashes.

Embrace the Wholeness

of creation.

Feel the One

heartbeat.

Weep for Things

unseen.

Shine before All

men.

Gentle and

humble.

Kind and

compassionate.

Clothed,

not naked.

Fed,

not starving.

Free,

not bound.

Healed,

not lame.

Pure, and without

shame.

Holy, and without

blame.

Rise to the

occasion.

Soar past the

limitations.

From within,

follow.

Rooted deep,

hallowed.

Existence ceased,

swallow.

It's time to end

all crime.

Open your eyes and

witness the signs.

The coming of a

new day.

Blessed with Peace,

no disarray.

Nor discord among

the Brethren.

Unity for all, and

all for Unity.

Hand in Hand, the

fulfilling of Destiny.

Hand in Hand, the

Cleansing of impurity.

Hand in Hand, the

Heavens opened up.

Rise. Rise. Rise up out

of those ashes.

Embrace the Wholeness

of creation.

Feel the One

heartbeat.

.thUmp...

...thuMp.

.thumP...

a fake smile

could no longer

surface

the depths of heart

ached

portions so calloused

the relief of numbness

slowly saturated

eyes which

stare into the

nothingness

of her surroundings

thoughts reflecting

the depth of

brokenness

which is never

spoken of

if never voiced

there is no

existence

shattered pieces

scattered within

the puzzle of

hopelessness

trying to fit

in voided places

without prevail

the chaos of mind

a reminder of the

hurricane

which has swept

through

the unknown depths

the existing truths

which the heart

is aware

lack of expectation

can slowly bring

forth healing

and full trust

is completely

lost in the world

of fantasy

her depths

her thoughts

her truths

shall forever

remain

faded within

© 2017 ScriptedSilence. All rights reserved

We pour out our hearts.

You sing it every waking hour.

I see your fingers moving on their own,

tapping, remembering, capturing the sounds.

I love what we do, selling our souls

to the beast they call music that others might know

there's more to these tunes, to these rhythms, these melodies.

There's chords, progressions, notes, technique.

I forget where the instrument ends and then there's me,

but you, you capture each little note

in its purest, most beautiful essence

you move with the flow, follow each diminuendo

As much as I don't know where my music comes from

I wonder how it is you exist without it.

We'll keep listening and playing, moving and driving,

attempting to capture art in all its purity

Long nights, long days-- I feel it all,

but you sit each day, ready and eager,

giving your soul, your heart, your mind, your body,

building and ebbing, beautifully crafting

in order to give the most human of things:

feeling and love and art

unchanged and always changing since the beginning of time.

You were crafted in the manner of Jubal,

and I see it now

as you give your heart to share humanity with all.

why do i keep wasting

my beautiful words and thoughts

on boys who in the end

mean nothing at all.

/enna.paz

in my mind,

i fight.

but what i say, what i do,

is nothing.

in my mind,

i am standing up for myself.

i am persuading myself that

i need to eat

it is okay to get a question wrong

grades do not define me

looks are not who i am

but what always happens is that

i say nothing when you make fun of me,

i refuse to eat if i can go a little longer,

i never raise my hand although i have the right answer,

i worry over a perfect GPA,

i hate the body i'm stuck in.

in theory, i fight.

i really do.

in reality, i run away.

always disappointing myself.

maybe one day i can proudly say that i’m a fighter.

Mossy. Dripping so much green that the other colors couldn’t compete, but they were there.

The willow branches moved with the breeze like an attentive lover, licking the surface of the lake.

Dipping my toe, I was sure the blue water was the same temperature as my body and it courted me, taking my breath away. Submerging myself, the liquid communed with my skin, as it had before my birth in my mother’s womb. The dead silence was a clue but not proof of anything.

On the other side of the lake, THEY all stood between the trees, calling me to attention, without words. Great, Great, Great.....Grandmother’s and Grandfather’s, welcoming me as their homecoming queen. Without ever knowing any of them, I recognized each and everyone of them instinctively as kin; the straight hair upon their heads, the low brows and even the wide fingernails I just knew they possessed, but I couldn’t see from across the lake. What wasn’t present were their scars, and I wasn’t sure why I knew this but I did. None of them were in pain. There was no anger, no hate, no emptiness, just love written all over their virgin faces, perfect grains of sand on a pristine beach.

Their arms were open wide embracing me from where I stood, apart from them, tempting me towards their utopia and in that moment, there was nothing more that I wanted than to walk into their embrace when abrputly I said, “No! I’m not ready yet.” They listened in earnest, letting me know they would be waiting for me.

When I awoke, I wondered if I had visited the afterlife, or was this just another silly dream that makes no sense?