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A face that haunts me.

Blue-ish eyes that follow me.

The curve of a nose that watches me.

That specific jawline, it shadows me.

It’s as if the shapes and features hunt me down.

I see the dimples, pared together with short, brown hair, on a passerby. It’s too much. Out of the corner of my eye, it could be him. It could have been him.

Then what. What do I do? What if it’s him??

It’s not. It’s a different nose.

The shape of his nose and brow-bone. It’s the most terrifying combo. All it needs is white skin and medium brown hair. Then it’s panic.

It only takes another glance or three, I will figure out it isn’t him soon enough. But before then, it’s a handful of agonizingly long seconds, a few but intense moments of despair. Thoughts run through my head like a deer who can only smell blood and hear the branches breaking, as if someone is coming right for them, in every direction.

No one can see into these 6 seconds, and perhaps it’s best that no one does. Fear contained to an instantaneous moment, terror kept in a small vial.

I am bound to this face. Sometimes it feels like a pursuit, I feel hunted. But I’m not just it’s prey, we are pledged to one another.

My brain has made a commitment with dread. There is an agitation that gnaws at the back of my skull. A phobia I hold dear in my heart. Or perhaps it’s just cowardice that walks around in my clothes.

It pursues me. But I give chase.

I can only go so far when I am held by a leash. A leash one might say is of my own making. But this collar and dog-tag was not crafted by my hands.

He did this.

Him with that sickeningly recognizable face.

It’s those eyes that haunt me, the ones he used to look at every inch of my body.

Frozen in that state forever. They will never stop look for me. They will never stop looking at me.

They have an obligation to haunt me. And I made a promise to run.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #anxiety #sad #abuse #mentions of trauma #mentions of abuse #implied sexual assault

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Why you and not me.

Why did you have to find us.

Why did you have to come here.

Why did you have to find him.

Why did you have a moment.

Why didn’t I have that moment?

What am I lacking?

Is it just that you won the race?

You got there first?

You claimed a prize I didn’t know I could win.

Do you understand something about him I don’t?

Does he see something in you that there’s no way he could see in me?

What is it?

Why is it you?

Why did it have to be you.

What butterfly do I have to squash?

What insect do I have to step on?

What tornado do I have to undo?

Is there something I could have done better? That I could have done sooner? That I could have done different? That I could have said?

Why not me?

Why you?

Why not me?

Why her.

Why not me.

What about her captivates you?

What about her is that “special something”?

What spark in her eyes am I lacking?

Am I not good enough?

Did I make a mistake?

Did I trip along the way? Down a path I didn’t even know I could go on?

Now that I’ve seen someone take the “right path”, god how I envy her.

It’s hard enough for me to make friends.

I’m ‘different’

I’m ‘other’

I have a hard time building lasting relationships and she has to just tare it away from me like that?

Your going to move??

You’re leaving me?

You’re leaving your job?

You’re leaving your home town?

There’s a better school?

You can’t settle for weather you hate, just for love?

What would it be like if you looked in my eyes like that.

What would I do if I could recognize you finding that spark in my eyes?

What would I do to have you love me instead of her.

What would I do to have you love me.

What wouldn’t I do?

I love you.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #scared of love #love letter #love poem #i love him #sad poetry #angsty

[page-60]

“I am tired of being told I am loved and cared about but never made to feel that way.”

— your actions and words never match

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10:28pm Monday, April 26th

Did you know the liberty bell is a replica, silently housed in its original walls?

I don’t wanna go home.

I don’t wanna go home.

I don’t wanna go home.

I know I sound like a child.

But that’s what I am.

You’ve stripped me down and wounded me at my core. And you’ve left a very

small child.

I just want to be able to step through that door because I want too.

I just want to be able to feel at home in that house.

When I’m in the house, I’m inside.

It’s the house I wake up in.

It’s the house I eat breakfast in.

It’s the house I shower in.

It’s the house I get dressed in.

It’s the house I go to bed in.

It’s the house I come home to.

But it really doesn’t feel like home.

It’s a house.

It’s my house

It’s our house.

It’s our home.

I know the porch light will always be on when I get home.

I know the door will always be unlocked.

I know you text to check up on me and say you love me.

I know, I love you too.

But I can’t help but hate this house.

I can’t just come home.

I don’t feel at home.

I don’t feel loved.

I am a tiny, beaten, bloodied, and bruised child.

You’ve hurt me so many times.

Many, many times inside this house.

Inside our home.

I’m an adult now.

I’m tall.

I’m strong.

I’m smart.

I have a job.

I have a car.

But I’m stuck.

I’m supposed to feel so big.

But I feel so tiny.

So very, very tiny.

And I’m in pain.

So, so much pain.

I can’t drive home without crying.

I can’t step through the door without wiping the tears away.

I know you want me to confide in you, to tell you when I’m in pain.

But how am I supposed to when the pain came from you.

How am I supposed to tell you something I know you won’t listen too, something you can’t hear.

How am I still the one who’s sorry.

How is this burden still mine.

I’m sorry I turned out the way I did.

I’m sorry.

But it’s not all my fault. Right?

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #tw depressing stuff #parental abuse #family trauma #trauma

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10:59pm Thursday, April 22nd

I don’t wanna go home

I don’t wanna go home.

I don’t wanna look into your eyes and see someone I don’t recognize.

So I keep driving.

And I keep the music blaring.

And I keep driving.

And I keep driving.

And I keep driving.

Until it’s well past your bedtime.

Until I’m most certain you’re asleep.

Until I know I don’t have to face you.

At least, not until tomorrow, not until the morning.

I don’t wanna go home.

I know you love me.

I know you’re worried about me.

I love you too, and you know this.

You love me. But you don’t care for me.

Not like you used too.

But now I’m not sure you ever did.

I miss my mommy.

Where did she go?

What happened to you?

When did you lose?

Were you ever there? Or was it just a child believing in the people around them.

Believing that the people around them really did care for them.

Believing that the people around them really loved them.

I’m stuck in the past.

But the future waits for no one.

Not the lonely child abandon by their parents.

Not the abused child afraid of their mother.

Not the wounded child stuck in my own body.

It waits for no one.

Especially not me.

The future always comes faster than you think it will.

You can’t wait for it when you’re already here.

Body in the present.

Mind in the past.

Heart in the future.

I try so hard.

But I can’t get unstuck.

I try to help myself.

I try to get help from others.

Why can’t I get any further.

I’m trying.

I’m trying.

I’m trying.

How long can I keep this up?

How many more nights can I just keep driving instead of coming home.

How many more nights until you forget to leave the light on.

When do I finally have to find the door in darkness.

When will you acknowledge that I’ve been such a horrible child.

When will you acknowledge that you’ve been a horrible mother.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #tw depressing stuff #depression #trauma #family trauma #mommy issues #parental abuse

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11:40pm Thursday, April 22nd

Sometimes you bleed just to know you’re alive.

Well I’ve done my fair share of bleeding.

When do I get to start living?

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry

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10:57pm Thursday, April 22nd

I want you to be the holder of my missing piece.

I know you could find, you already found me didn’t you?

Please let it be you.

I love you.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #i love her #love letter #i love you #love

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2:38am Wednesday, April 21st

I’m so tired

But I can’t let myself go to sleep until I’m absolutely sure I have forgotten about what I don’t want to think about.

I wake up tired.

I go to work and get more tired.

I come home tired.

I want to take a nap but if I let myself I know I won’t get to sleep tonight.

So I watch YouTube videos.

And I play some games.

And I watch more videos.

And I play games for a bit more.

And I watch a few more videos.

Then it’s time to get in bed.

Time to pretend for a while.

So I watch videos on my phone.

For an hour or two or three.

It’s 3am.

I finally shut off my phone.

I finally quiet the noise.

I finally release myself from the distraction.

Now I have to think.

Now I have to see the thoughts that are lingering.

I finally have to deal with what I’ve done my best to forget, to hide, to distract myself from.

I turn the music on.

Hoping it will help me to continue to forget.

Maybe it will help me convince myself I’m okay, that there’s nothing to hide from.

I’m so tired.

But I can’t go to sleep yet.

I can’t forget yet.

I can’t cry yet.

Not now. Stop it.

Forget and go to sleep.

please

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry

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Ok, honestly one of the worst things about depression, if it’s not already bad enough, is when you can feel yourself slowly slipping into a depression and there’s nothing you can do. Even though it’s the holiday season right now all I can do is watch myself go deeper and deeper, and grow more and more distant from everything and everyone I care about. It’s almost an out of body experience, surreal for a lack of a better term. I can feel and see myself force a smile. I’m supposed to be excited for Christmas, I mean, I still had fun at the holiday party, laughing with my friends was genuinely fun. But I’m still depressed. I’m particularly irritable, I crave more sweets+junk food and just more food in general, every small thing that makes me think about my life somehows links up to something sad or disappointing. I watch myself and I catch myself doing these behaviours. I try to make myself happier, listen to up-beat music, listen to funny podcasts, snuggle with my pets, watch happy videos online, etc. They all prove to pick pick up my mood, but really, they are just distracting me from this huge weight on my back. As soon as someone, something, or even myself remind me of the work I’m not doing to improve myself and my life, all of the homework I’ve never bothered to do, the important decisions I’m not making. I watch as all this weight deteriorates me. I watch in slow growing horror as I, almost poetically, fall deeper and deeper into the dark pit. I’m slowly drifting like a leaf, into the depths of the ocean, less and less light being shed on me, less and less colorful and friendly fish to see. And “it just happens” says some people. “Hormonal imbalances”. Thanks for the diagnosis

Now are you going to help me?

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I have been having such strange dreams lately. They are gauzy, wispy things, filled with ghosts and snow and long open roads that stretch through some town without a name. Lonely, in a way I can’t quite describe.

Did you know, you can hide secrets in the crease of your palms, so long as your hands are always fists. Did you know you can tuck your hopes away into your cheek, hidden softly between tooth and flesh, and not a soul will know so long as you keep your lips pressed tight. Did you know, that over time, a persistent little drip of water can wear away even the most resilient of rocks. Did you know that life can do the same thing to a soul.

This is, of course, to say that I am tired. Tired of the weariness that reaches my bones. Tired of the ache that pulls at the corners of my lips. Tired of wearing a dusting of purple beneath my eyes. Tired of being tired.

I cried when it rained the other day. Because it had been so long. Because I had missed it so much. I painted something, and my hands were stained a beautiful, mosaic of colors for the rest of the day. The sun felt warm on my skin for the first time in months. I laid on the carpet and watched dust motes dance through sunbeams. There are freckles on the back of my hand that make a perfect constellation. 

This is, of course, to say that maybe this life wears my soul down, but it also sets it alight. It is a strange dance; a tired, beautiful sort of pull and push. A waltz, beneath a billion stars. Within this beautiful, awful world that saw us as lovely enough to give us breath to laugh. In this beautiful, awful life that saw us as important enough to give us tears to cry.

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3:06am Sunday, April 11th

Stress

I’m tired.

I want a break.

I need a break.

It’s not like last time.

It’s not tiredness from life.

I’m not suicidal.

It’s tiredness from my own head; my own self.

I don’t want a break in the sense I need people to see I’m struggling and help me.

I’m not hopeless. I’m not depressed.

I need a break in the sense that I need everyone to step away and the world to grow quiet; for my head to alow me silence for a few moments.

I am so very, extremely stressed.

I clench my jaw enough to feel my teeth crack.

I bite my cheek until I taste blood.

I have night-terror after night-terror.

I can’t get to sleep until it’s already morning.

I don’t even feel tired until the sun has already risen.

I am constantly exhausted.

I can’t do this anymore.

I don’t know how much more my body can take.

She said sometimes when people come out of depression their anxiety symptoms bubble up.

An un-dealt with problem finally surfacing.

It never stops.

“Let’s get your Bipolar episodes under control before we worry about treating your depression.”

Next it’s the depression and anxiety package.

Then it’s possible ADHD.

But maybe it’s Autism.

Or maybe both.

But what if I have C-PTSD?

But probably not. Right?

What if my BP is just a mask for Borderline Personality Disorder?

Probably not though.

Right?

Maybe I don’t fucking have any of these.

Maybe I’m just delusional.

But that’s mental illness too.

When does it end?

When do I get to know “Who I am”?

When do I get to know “What I have”?

When do I get to know how to help myself.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #tw depressing stuff #depression #bipolar #bipolor #bipolar 2 #anxiety #stressed #stress #adhd inattentive #adhd #healing #i want to heal #mental health #self healing

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3:27am Saturday, April 17th

Childhood

When I really think about it,

I don’t want to be someone else.

I don’t want to go back and change it.

But god is it hard to heal.

I have a child in me.

A child rotted by anger and sadness, frustration and grief, guilt and regret.

I have a child in me who wishes I had a different life, someone different to raise me and teach me, someone who didn’t hurt me so much.

I know it wasn’t bad. I know it wasn’t good.

It did so much damage to me.

You did so much damage to me.

But I don’t know how it fix it.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #childhood #parental abuse #trauma #nostalgia #nostalgic #early 2000s #2000s aesthetic #2000s baby #2000s nostalgia

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4:30am Friday, March 26th

Dear Mom and Dad,

When did you decide I wasn’t your little girl anymore?

Was I ever as precious to you as you said I was?

I never grew up, yet I had to at an age way too young. So why did think I could do it all by myself?

You ask me where your little girl has gone. And I echo the same question back to you.

You say you care. Then why do I always feel so alone.

I’m stuck. And it’s all your fault.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #depression #deppressed #parents #parenting #parental abuse

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12:45am Saturday l, March 20th

When is it my turn?

When do I get told it’s all going to be okay.

When do I get told it’s not my fault.

When do I get told I tried my best, that I did the right thing.

When is it my turn?

I shouldn’t have to re-parent myself.

My parents should have done that for me.

I shouldn’t have to have this hole in my heart.

They should have filled that for me.

I shouldn’t have to try this hard to catch up.

I should already be there.

Why not me?

I know I’m not the only one who suffered.

I know I’m not alone.

But I should never have had to suffer in the first place.

But now I’m here.

Broken and wounded.

Left to pick up the pieces of myself and try to put it all back together.

It will be hard; it already has been.

I know I can get to a better place.

But I also know that these cracks will never change.

Glue can hold but it can’t hide.

Even if I pick every piece up and put each one where they go. I have to hold on to those pieces and keep them together forever.

I’m made of porcelain.

And they won’t stop breaking me.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #tw depressing stuff #deppresing thoughts #deppressed #deppresion #sadness #sad poetry #sad poem

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10:56pm Thursday, March 11th

It’s Hard

Why can’t I just buck up and change.

I know it’s hard.

Especially with the pandemic.

And with depression

And anxiety

And bipolar 2

And whatever else..

I know I keep telling myself that but is it true?

Is it really just that hard, or is it me.

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry

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10:40pm Monday, March 8th

Sister

TW// sh mentions

My sister moved away, left lots of clothes in her room, said I could go through them and take what I want.

Going through her stuff I find her.. “tools” she used for sh. I knew she did, I knew they might be here but how am I supposed to feel.. how am I supposed to react?

I’m sympathetic, I’m disgusted, I’m triggered, I’m sorry.

As much pain I was in as I kid, so was she.

I’m sorry no one noticed.

I’m sorry no one did anything.

I’m sorry.

But that’s no excuse for how you treated me when we were kids.

I had a truly awful childhood.

And so did you.

I’m so sorry.

We were barely siblings. But we both suffered in silence at the same time.

I hope it gets better when you’re out of this hell-hole. I hope you’re getting better.

My sister may have moved 25 minutes away but she has left nearly every piece of herself here.

She hates this place, I get it, me too.

She wants absolutely nothing to do with the past. Shes left her past here, laying around for me to find, open and painful.

I cant help but cry for her.

A past never mourned. Abandoned and left behind to one day find it’s owner and return the favor.

You will remember.

You can’t run forever.

But you will try, I know that much.

You’ve left the pain in this house, you’ve left the burden to the people you stranded.

But I can never really blame you.

I pull things out of your closet like I’m scared of what might come tumbling out.

There’s enough energy in this room to shake my bones, but the objects I find shake me to my core.

I’m sorry. God am I so sorry.

Damn it.

This was supposed to be your job.

You’re supposed to be sorry for me.

You’re supposed to be older, to be the bigger person.

You’re supposed to set an example and nurture me. It’s your job.

Why am I the one who cries over you. Why am I the one who’s sorry for what happened to you.

Why is it me who’s stuck here, unable to grow.

Why did I think you would ever start to show you love me.

I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.

But why aren’t you..

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #tw depressing stuff #tw mention of sh #tw selfharm #tw mental trauma #sister #siblings #sibling relationship #sibling rivalry #sibling dynamics #parental abuse

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4:39am Friday, March 5th

Unlovable?

Is there something wrong with me for not loving my friends like I should? Like I could?

There’s a part of me my friends just don’t fill.

As much as I love them. There is always something I’m not giving them.

It always feel like a performance, like I’m lying. To them and myself.

Maybe that’s speaks more about my character than theirs.

I’m sorry.

But I need someone to love and care for me in a way you could never. In a way you can’t.

I’ve lacked a caregiver in my life.

My parents tried. But they failed.

Now I’m left, feeling empty and like I need another person to fill it.

I just want someone to love me unconditionally.

To love every piece of me.

And to want my love in return.

I just need someone I can trust with my whole heart. And they can intrust theirs to me.

I know it’s wishful thinking. I’m sorry if I’m asking too much.

But I just really need someone to fill a role in my life that nobody has ever filled.

I need to be loved. I need love

#poetry #art #poem #original poem #original poetry #love unconditionally #scared of love #love