you are not made to be admired
made to be filled
made to be cheeks pinched
made to be ladylike pretty perfect
you are not made to be filled
not waiting on him
not needing your other half
you are complete.
not your baby doll,
not your looking good,
not yours to talk down
not yours to make up
not yours to take
you are all your own.
There’s a slight debate about which is more important: having someone hear you or having someone listen to you. People either say “I want to be heard and not just listened to” or, “I want to be listened to and not just heard”.
No matter which one seems deeper to you, there is a same underlying point. The point is, people crave understanding. People want a human connection, they want what they’re trying to say to be understood and taken to heart. We don’t want to be ignored. We don’t want to be forgotten. We don’t want to be background noise in the endless chatter of our lives.
maybe it wont always be old friends and familiarity and comfort.
maybe it won’t always be new friends and dancing out loud and excitement.
sometimes its sitting in the dark inside of yourself, waiting.
sometimes it’s hope.
i miss you, and i’m still looking forward to something new.
I’m over 3 months clean
my skin is scrubbed over and over until
clean clear veins
untouched, caged away in my skin
i am beginning again.
praise me, watch my growing from outside in.
tell of my becoming, tell of the smile when i learn to laugh
welcome me back, welcome my absent inner attack, praise how big, how loud I’ve become.
I’m over 3 months clean
and it feels like a welcome home.
You are new, and I know you,
and I’ve missed you.
I don’t rely on that crushing force
I don’t cry over you anymore
You closing my own doors,
locking me inside my head.
But I am over 3 months clean.
i don’t know where is safe
all i know is tearing myself down
deconstructing into dust
until i am nothing more.
I’ve been trying to make me new,
a deep breath of space and wind and empty opportunity.
but i leave it up to you.
i can only lay my broken body down
battered and bruised
everyday is a battle, and finally, I don’t want to lose.
I pull myself apart,
looking for a piece of me that fits perfect
to your edges to my sides.
this is my slow Resurrection, this is my self-made art.
After I close my eyes
Before I open them
Dreams drift past me
Escaping my memory
Floating farther away
Gasping for breath, no oxygen in space, the space i begin to embrace
Hey it’s not so bad, maybe it’s okay
I see where I used to breath free, me with the ginormous need
Just hoping to be the King of the Stars
Loftily, inside, you know you’ll go far
Many times I’ve wondered? But
Now I truly know
Only death escapes you
Pleading for the life you saw as your own foe
Questioning the people around you
Round and round you float
Silent space, will your feet ever touch the ground?
Though you are weary you will never find rest.
Up to the stars
Very far away from where you’re used to.
Whimsical, it all seems like a joke
X-ray pf my own mind, wish i could find
my truth has been spread around
i’m tired of hearing all about it
and i hate the person attached to my body
hate the headache in my head
over and over again.
you’re my escape
you’re my heartbreak
and i’m nothing more than hurt .
i fell in love again with the world
for a simple second
but i’m just a sick girl
who says she’s not okay.
now how can she complain?
there’s a part of me
in telling my pain
that maybe i’m only
looking for someone to blame.
what am i, anyway?
just someone who wants get away.
i’m not suicidal for revenge
i’m not suicidal for sympathy
i’m suicidal to end the broken me.
it’s 4:41 on a sunday afternoon. usually i’m getting overwhelmed at how I’ve wasted the day right now. i don’t know what i’m doing with this blog, but we’ll see i guess. i don’t really want people to read this per se, (per say?) it’s probably just going to be a little diary or whatever for myself. i really doubt this will get any attention and that is okay. I just want to be creative again.