Time. Time keeps passing by the way you turn on and off a light switch, the way the sun rises and sets like clock work each day. I’m stuck in the same place, for years my feet have been planted like cement. I’m trapt in my own mind like my own personal cocoon thats constantly on fire, offering no semblance of growth or protection. The caterpillar cocoons out of instinct, no rule book, no play by play, it just knows when its time. I unfortunately and not a caterpillar, each day when my eyes open i dont have any instincts any sense of self, i just am. I wake up and think about how to get through the day. How do i deal with all the thoughts constantly rushing at me, in me, thats a skill i have not mastered yet. I grew up in a home where the walls constantly burned, smoke filling my lungs no matter which way i ran or which room i hid in. There was no hiding, i was in a see through cage not of my own making.Take a breath, my mom loves me, my dad loves me, my parents failed me, take a breath. My parents never intended to cause so much irreparable damage and yet here i am, my pieces strewn left and right, here and there. They failed at their most basic job as a parent, protecting me. That’s a hard pill to swallow, and every day i try to swallow it without water, my throat dryer than sand, raw and bleeding from all the times iv tried and failed. I keep trying to make peace with things, i think one day ill get there but right now the hurt is just…all consuming. The person who was supposed to be a protector, a best friend, a confident and partner in crime, obliterated me and obliterated my life. It took me a really long time to admit what happened, to be able to say the words “I was Raped”. Not once, not twice but a number I’m to afraid to even know. I was sexually assaulted for years.Then i have to add all of the other things in to the recipe of things that screwed my brain up. The name calling, being made to feel like i was the most disgusting, vile creature that had ever dared to set foot on this earth. The amount of hatred i formed for myself, because someone who was supposed to love me and be my family, thought so lowly of me than i really must be awful. My home was not much of a home. There was no semblance of safety, creating an environment where the only warmth i knew was the anxiety that burned inside my chest.The dinner table,resembled a fight ring. Mom would put down the mashed potatoes, id get a death stare across the table. Down goes the corn, “stupid cunt” was mouthed over the pads of butter, the pork chops are done cooking and hell breaks lose. My ears ring to this day, wooden chair legs scraping across the floor, plates being flung, my father doing his best to parent a monster that wears a human skin. My mother, the house wife who tries to fix all, tries to cover it all up and pretend the damage never happened.I often wonder if her ears ring like mine.Ring, ring ring. Someone please help me, i cant do this all on my own, ring ring ring…dial tone.Im alone. I often still feel that, I’m the only one who was willing to finally stand up and try to change, try to change, try to better. Ill hold that trophy till the day i die, i was the brave one.

(Poor punctuation warning it’s 2:30 am)

We have to remind ourselves that it’s okay to just exist. It’s okay to just take up space.We were not made to work 8 hours a day 5 days a week, we were not made to count calories until our bones protrude, we were not made to be so anxious that we want to climb out of our skin, we were not made to be Robots and have that result in our self worth, our accomplishments, our happiness.

Instead I dream of a place where those things are hollow empty ideas that have been thrown into a void while humanity screams blasphemy. Can we not measure our accomplishments by how many butterflies we’ve seen in a day ? Can we not measure our self worth by the warmth in someone’s smile, by the gentleness one has towards others. Can we not measure our happiness by the beauty of simply existing. How about sunsets, and huge white clouds ? The first snow of the year and the smell of autumn finally arriving. That’s a happiness we feel in our bones because we are alive in a place where those things exist. Find happiness in the way a dog wags his tail or a leaf dances happily to the ground, find it in your best friends laughter or the smell of brownies baking in the oven. It’s okay if today you did nothing, it’s okay if tomorrow you do nothing as well. Find your peace, find your happy. Stop letting the world put so much fucking pressure on you to be something, to be someone. Be whoever the fuck you want to be and do whatever the fuck you wanna do as long as it makes your soul sing, as long as it makes your heart feel warm, as long as it brings you peace . We have so much pain in this world and the last thing we need to do is be at war with ourselves so even if you have to take it day by day or even second by second practice loving yourself. Practice appreciating all the things you bring into the world instead of everything you believe you lack. Artists often use white space, a spot of the paper filled with nothing, no ink, no graphite, not paint, though on its own it’s not very pretty when you step back and look at the whole paper, that white space is used to created something finale. We all have our bits of white space and that’s okay. We live on a floating ball in what is essentially fucking nothing.

I keep expecting it to get easier.

The ache in my chest

The hollowness that fills me.

The painful absence of you.

The excruciating reality that you are gone.

Every time I think I’m getting better, think I’m healing I get sucker punched with a wave of crippling grief.

You are so far away now. I keep you close,

I wear your heart made of silver around my neck and it hangs just above my own. I catch myself holding onto it during the day, hoping it will make me feel close to you, praying for some sort of cosmic sign that you are here, that you can hear me. My soul is filled with heartache and never ending grief and I don’t know how to move on from that.

Destruction was your middle name.

Handed down, branded on your skin the day you were born. Everything you touched seemed to catch fire.

Destruction was your middle name.

You walked the earth with lead feet

The ground cracking with every silent step.

They called you a sinner because you broke the mold.

They yelled blasphemy with every breathe you took.

Torches and pitch forks held to your throat for simply existing.

Destruction was your middle name.

You held the cross and let it scorch your flesh, Penance for crimes you didn’t commit.

Praying for redemption for guilt that wasn’t yours to carry.

Destruction was your middle name but I didn’t mind.

They called me a plague too.

Referred to me as something that needed to be eradicated.

With nails through your hands,

And a rope around your neck

You still saved me.

You left the world broken, half of what you were but you are still the most holy thing I have ever seen. You’re white wings may not be so white but you were the most righteous creature.

They said your middle name was destruction but I think they were wrong.

You touched me and yet I did not burn.

I had to learn.

I had to learn to make hell my home. The walls burning, flames lashing out to bite my skin no matter what I did.

Sitting alone quietly reading, no words left my lips.

No air left my lungs.

Hush hush little one.

I had to learn to accept the floors of my home were built from rotten boards, they were never meant to support anything. The first sign of pressure and they started to splinter.

I had to learn to survive.

I had to learn to love my hell.

I had to learn to make hell my home.

So I made a warrior.

Tearing off my own skin until it calloused over.

Biting my own tongue almost in half to appease the demons that laid the floors down.

Snapped my bones like twigs

until they became unbreakable.

Tore myself apart from the inside out

Until my body no longer broke

It no longer bent

It no longer bled.

I left hells gates a human

But you sent a monster out into the world desperately trying to belong.

On its knees praying.

Praying for redemption for something you did.

Praying for forgiveness for finding a way to survive.

Bruises on my finger tips

Black smoke leaking from my lungs

Bitter air stinging my skin

What have I become

Eyes are meant for seeing, but lately all I see is fog, a grey scale land.

The colors gone again, it feels like it leaves more often than it comes.

It never stays.

I scream and scream but nothing ever leaves my lips. No one ever hears the panic, the ache in my voice, the burn in my chest.

Everyone’s ears are plugged with their own problems, their own lies.

No one wants to listen to you say help me, I’m not okay.

Help me I think I’m getting bad again

Help me

Help me

Help me

For fucks sake I need your help.

Angry fingers in my face,

spewing nonsense at my ears

Get up girl.

Stop crying girl.

Stop feeling.

I walk away with bloody lips, coughed up anger spewing as I turn away from all of you.

So much anger

There’s a hole in my throat, a hole clear through from toxic words Iv swallowed in response.

That’s all I ever do for you.

I swallow my anger, I swallow my hurt and it goes down like a fucking knife.

God it hurts, slicing me open as it goes deep down to hide.

There’s a storm brewing inside me, it started off as a small spark, a tiny electric bolt that just keeps growing.

One day I hope I’m brave enough to unleash the storm I have become and I hope you feel every ounce of wrath in my rotting bones.

Glass windows staring back at me

Throwing haunting reflections in my face.

Sunken eyes And marbled skin.

Rivers leaking down weary flesh.

Coughing up desperation into a void

Knuckles bloodied, open wounds pooling crimson at my feet.

Ill keep running, running until my legs turn to stone.

I’ll keep running until the stone carries me home.

Wandering toes touching every ounce of Earth, every flower petal, every Brooke and stream. I’ll keep searching for eden, until my lungs turn to mineral.

Sometimes I want to hide away from the world, in a room, by the ocean, on top of a mountain. Sometimes, I just want to hide. The pressure I feel everyday from the people I love most. I try my hardest to support them, help them cope with their problems the best I am capable of, and make things easier if possible. When it comes to the burdens I bear, it feels like no one sees me. My worries and stresses aren’t taken seriously, because I don’t have real life problems. I’m just expected to accept how I feel, accept when something is done to me that is not right. I’m made to feel like it’s all my fault, every little thing that I’m upset about, it’s my fault, my problem, I’m the fucking crazy one. I should feel lucky to be treated so well, have everything so easy and have all of my worries taken care of by someone else. Or so I’m told, or more so what is consistently drilled into my head. I feel unimportant, like I am just such a burden to my loved ones. This isn’t one of those Times where it’s just a feeling that’s gotten too deep in my head. This is how I am made to feel every moment of the day. I ask for too much, I stress other people out with my stress is what I am told when I am mid panic attack. Financial struggles have been a large part of my life, and occasionally I receive help with rent from my family member. I always thank this person more times than I can count and try to show my appreciation the best I know how. I have given up all the things I enjoyed, coffee, makeup, I don’t think i have bought a new pair of pants in 4 years and have made a point to avoid hair cuts and try to do them myself because I simply cannot afford it. With my anxiety and depression also comes my inability to work in a public setting, I have a small source of income so when it comes down to it, I need some help to survive. Sometimes I express that I miss those things, that I wish I had the money to buy some mascara or get a hair cut so I don’t look like I just crawled out of the trash, and I just receive negativity in return. I’m not asking for these things, and that’s what they don’t understand. I’m not asking for these items, it’s just something that I miss being able to do. I just wish I wasn’t made to feel ungrateful and selfish all of the time. I really don’t see myself that way. I love to bake so I often bake extras and bring them to my mother or grandmother, or a friend just to be nice, or i will make a lot of homemade gifts and then the person who I gave them to, gives them away to someone else. I try my best with what I know. To try to be a good person, to try to make others happy and never feel the way I do. I always try to be grateful and show my appreciation but it never feels like enough. I tell someone I can’t talk on the phone because I am trying to pick up food at the store and can’t focus with all the noise and I get yelled at and made to feel like I am the worst human to ever exist. Sometimes I express that I am in physical pain, which I am most days. I have consistent migraines everyday and my back has been in agonizing pain for two and half years. I never say anything, I never complain but the one time I say anything about having a rough day with pain management, I get the response of “yea, join the club” or a really long sigh and annoyed look following a “yep, me too, don’t hear me complaining” I never complain and it’s really frustrating to have no one to express these things to. To always be shut down no matter what I say or do. I come up with a new idea, or something I’d love to do when I can, I get scoffed at or just totally ignored. I just want someone to listen to me and actually try to understand what I feel, someone who actually wants to listen to what is going on inside my head. I am always met with negativity or someone being rude to me or being made to feel like I am just completely annoying them and then when I get sad or angry that I am not being heard or listened to, I get demonized, told it’s my fault. I’m being the asshole, I’m trying to start a fight, I’m selfish, I always have an attitude, I treat people poorly. I don’t understand that if I am such a horrible person, how everything can look so different from my side. I feel like I am expected to be a robot, do as I’m told, behave, cook, clean, wait on hand and foot, be ignored and constantly insulted and then never feel or show any kind of negative emotion. I just don’t understand why I can’t see that I am such a terrible person because apparently everyone around me can see it. I try my hardest to be perfect, because I feel like that’s whats expected of me. I’m tired, just so very tired.

The presence of danger is all around, dancing with devils and talking to the moon, I listen I can hear it, I can feel it, waves crashing, pounding against my ribs, aching to be set free and cause turmoil and destruction around me. My head is a mess, weeks of sleeping till noon, not brushing my hair often enough, weeks of staring at blank spaces hoping to feel anything. Napping at six at night so exhausted from the night before, from never sleeping, I wonder if my mind, if my body, my soul will ever know peace. I wake up, I see you, standing in the doorway eyes gazing, and you are there, you are always there, watching me, protecting me, loving me. Keeping a close eye on the human being who is spiraling downward at a fast pace. You are always there, making sure I don’t sink so low that I can’t find my way back. Always there to make sure you grab my hands before I jump off the ledge.