September 6, 2019

When someone tells you to stop feeling bad for yourself it is not because you’re undeserving or that there is nothing wrong with your circumstances … it is because they feel you’re undeserving of potential unemployment, lost relationships, drug addiction, a record or all the other outcomes most associated with self pity. I feel many of us retaliate against any sense of objectivity while in a state of depression only to realize years later that the most abusive person in our life was us.

Low expectation from either ourselves or another is nothing more than neglect. To believe in someone enough to question them and their intentions even with themselves and their own life is to love them. To do anything however that facilitates somebody’s self destruction especially going as far as accepting it as who they are… well that is not love. It could never be love.

August 19, 2019 

renascence

squirm from the vacancy of the conquest,
I’ll ignore the attention associated with all the prospects,
so lucky I am to have documented the process,
I thought it was a failure but my words only spell progress.

I’m only sad about losing touch
with my best friend,
the girl of my world,
beautiful, bright and sweet,
but knowing her she’ll still love me,
she always has,
or else she wouldn’t have wrote it all out,
knowing I’d need the proof,
knowing I’d come back here seeking her solace,
seeking her truth.

there’s just nothing more to say,
you paved your way,
I’m never gonna save you from the drugs, the fiends,
the women, or the incessant need,
I just can’t relate,
back from the dead yet I can’t help but think
you’re the one who’s been on their deathbed all along,
I am so thankful to finally not wanna take you on,
I am so thankful to see my suspicions confirmed.
after so long.

I know it’s not over,
I’ll always get sad but I still have a chance,
one day I’ll be the best lover, the best mom, the best friend,
but only for someone worth the loyalty
you and yours love to mock.

I really do hope you enjoy the scoffs, the smoke and
the romanticism of being
terribly neglectful and predictably lost,
I’ll enjoy the poetry your destruction caused,
I guess I too knew what I was doing all along.

there’s no way I was going to
just give all that I’ve got
and walk with nothing at all,
maybe I’m not as subservient as
my strings of texts lead on.
so here’s to the joy of letting
the insecure feed on,
here’s to the up side
of finally getting gone.

August 9, 2019

guarded(ian) angel

People shouldn’t have to recover from their recovery and yet every time I am put in a stabilizing hospital I am again injected with venom… the very reason I arrived; a nearly palpable indifference I am forced to feel towards both the human condition and humanity itself. The unfortunate truth is that these hospitals are simply life downsized to an institution, a microcosm for life if you will. The anger, the corruption, the incessant medication and of course the self sabotage that ties us all together in one way or another. Even worse, I cannot be placed in these situations without feeling absolutely ruled by both my disgust and empathy. It all comes back to the truth… I don’t like the humanity I spend my life trying to understand and care for.

I don’t even care to pretend anymore. I do believe in all the niceties I am fed. I see them. I am kind, articulate, perceptive. I am actually one of the few things I felt I would miss before I almost fell to the insignificance I worked so hard orchestrating. In fact, in hospitals I may be the sickest of them all and yet I am the one who helps people. I sacrifice until I can’t because that’s the only thing that breaks my numbing apathy. It’s not stable though… it always leaves me alone in my contempt, my confusion. Yet for some reason… since I was a child… I cannot dispose of my empathy. I see people suffer, I see people I despise suffer everyday, and I still help. People tell me to stop caring, and yet they’ve put me into a hospital, they want to fix me, just as I want to fix others. We’re all suffering from the same feeling yet I am overwhelmed by what I see so much so that I foolishly rebel. I foolishly let my moral objections ruin my life, morality has always ruined my life.

I’ve noticed in hospitals and well everywhere, half of the people I meet love me, the other half are afraid, don’t want others to talk to me, be my friend. I still haven’t fully understood why. I feel these are truths that will either never be revealed or be revealed when I am gone. It feels as though people do listen to me and that scares people. I do make sense. I feel every single person alive feels some level of this confusion. I believe that is why suicide is so controversial. If we start regulating suicide in the same way other countries do… we would have to acknowledge it. We’d have to allow it without thinking of it ourselves. I understand that is hard for people but that is also a facet of my disdain. I believe thoroughly… actually the only thing I believe completely is that suicide is a right, my own suicide above all else is my right. If someone has displayed for years and several treatment plans that they still want to die then keeping them alive has probably grown to the point of near excruciation or complete boredom. Forcing someone to live in my opinion is as morally caustic as forcing someone to die. Our lives are more our own than our environment. It is our inherent environment.

The only point of fear I have is that I am wrong. Not because I’d die. I’m going to die one day. I’m afraid that I do affect people… and that I could be wrong, I could be making everyone worse. I mean being caring, helping others, it’s only drove me physically and mentally weaker every day. Granted if I took everyone’s advice and did become a psychologist I would stick to the book. Even still for as long as I live I will continue to deny to certain actions, certain qualities. Then again, what’s the use? There will never truly be a profession that doesn’t have some level of hypocrisy. Life itself is hypocrisy with a pulse. My empathy will always come back… it always comes back. Just as my life just did, just like it always has. I have cheated death so many times. All my life I have been saved, brought back from the dead, I have survived every near death experience, every accident, every attempt. I wish I understood why. I am not worthless but I don’t think I’m worth this. If someone cosmic is keeping me here, I wish they would stop. I don’t think I can become like everyone else. I don’t think I will ever be compliant. I just don’t believe I can keep justifying life. Not forever.

I just want to kill my empathy above all else. I think we all do because humanity is a hive. Our consciousness are all interconnected. We are all over thinking, sabotaging a little or a lot and of course hurting something else in a ridiculous way just to afford some elegant waste. I think it all comes down to narcissism. Consciousness is inherently narcissistic. Mindless self reflection, all day, it’s no wonder so many of us are dependents of something. For me I just can’t take how opposite I feel of everyone. A piece of me is in everyone… I relate to everyone in someway and yet nearly everyone makes me miss myself within just a day or so of constant interaction. I don’t think it is because I am introverted either. Many are. I am just so so different. This is why all my poetry has been about one person for so long. There is only one person who doesn’t make me miss myself … because they understand me, I understand them. Truly there is nothing about them I don’t understand. Every failure, every tear, all the selfless empathy for certain friends. I understand. It’s hard to stay mad because I understand and I feel they took advantage of that. Still though I have to remind myself that we are not the same person. I just never knew where they end and where I began because I am convinced there’s not a joke I could say or a grotesque feeling I could admit that they wouldn’t understand to some extent. My brain is flooded everyday with memories I don’t want to forget and yet I know to survive I have to forget them. Just like my altruism, it remains another thing that life forces me to suppress or even dispose of for good.

It saddens me that this person feels I hate them, that I wanted to burden them with regret their entire lives. Why would I do that to my favorite person? Why would I want to? My death has always only truly ever had to do with me, I thought that was obvious with all the poetry and pain that preceded them in my life. I guess I am just growing tired of the same circumstance. Ever since I have been a child there has always been other people and circumstances keeping me from the few people that understand me at all. People who understand my humor, my perception, my opinions. Whether it be co workers, best friends or family. There was always some oppressive figure pulling us apart. The worst of all is that these people and I always get along and have more fun than whoever is doing the pulling. That’s life though, isn’t it. We all probably wouldn’t eat meat or kill people in war or do bad things if it wasn’t programmed into our biology. It’s like these relationships represent that good nature that exists for potentially no reason and people work like our instincts to ruin it all. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why everything contradicts itself, I do, those helping me do, humans do. Life itself does. What is the truth? Which side is right? Are there no sides at all? I wish I understood. I need to understand.

If anything losing my child is what I ultimately cannot accept. I know it was my fault, my decision and my pain to carry. I don’t even know why there is so much pain anyway because I was an anti natalist my whole life, some part of me still is. We don’t know how to stop hurting each other yet half of us have kids. In fact the most daft and horrific people I know have them. They’re the ones who have them most. It’s like people lose their faith in life and need children to see or attempt to see life from innocent eyes again. That makes me sick because I was that child. Most everyone in the mental hospital was that child but somehow they’re selfish enough to have their own version of that child. Yet it all comes back to our biology, the thing that instills that need. It makes me confused and afraid because I didn’t stop being suicidal until I wanted children. I finally felt more normal because of it. It’s odd to not want them even odder to believe most shouldn’t be allowed to. Yet I know I am currently someone who isn’t ready and I paid the ultimate sacrifice. I know I made the right decision and yet I can only cry.

Every night I go to rest I can still picture them. Picture them young, picture them old. Picture two halves of my favorite people, making one. As my brain produces an image of them small, sweet, and sleeping on my chest my insomnia then breaks away and I fall into rest. I know however that I need to kill that image, but it feels like an act of killing them twice.

It all doesn’t make sense. If we shouldn’t be having children, why is there an urge that is impossible to deny ourselves most of the time? And why does losing them feel worse than even our own death?

I don’t understand anything. Everyone keeps saying I am so smart, I am so helpful. Yet I am confused by everything. Maybe I am just one of the few that is good at explaining that. I wish I could succumb to religion but what is the point if my views are already that altruistic? Even if I committed to it then science would wedge itself between and I wouldn’t be able to ignore witnessing the ways in which science disproves or proves better so many things. It’s like I am perfect halves of two things that completely oppose each other and like humanity as a whole I’m destroying myself in order to no longer have to endure the ache associated with trying to understand. If only we could just choose one side altogether or evolve back into creatures who were instinctive enough not to care. Either way it ends the same. We either eat each other physically or emotionally. Why is both science and religion ill fated? If you ignore your heart, scientifically you’ll succeed but you’ll go to hell. If you embrace your heart, religiously you’ll go to heaven but you’ll suffer more than need be.

My psychiatrist said to stay in the middle but the middle is who I am. I am something in the middle. Which is why I can help nearly everyone. Yet I remain in pain. I am losing faith, interest. I just don’t think I care. I am starting to see why there is an entire religion devoted to sitting still and not thinking. The more you think the more you see and all there is to see is contradiction.

All I do know is if I am really meant to be here and get past this then I will be forced to be reckoned with. I don’t think I am worthless, I just don’t want to think about it. My worth. Life’s worth. I’m tired of thinking about things. I’m just so tired and each year I lose something that made me feel related or energetic. I don’t want to think about that either but I have to take therapy for the next year. More thinking and words. You have to accept things. You have to accept the human condition. You have to accept everything. I already know all their words, I can recite speech we all recite to ourselves.

What if I can’t accept everything? What will society do with me? Again, I don’t care. I don’t care much about anything right now. I can’t afford to care so deeply. That is what depression comes down to. Caring less about some things, more about others. I’ll do what others want. I’ll change me, my favorite person so they can all sleep at night in less pain. I already do too much for others as is, this will just be another thing I endure. It already is. My story is like life’s story, both endings are the same. Two different paths to the same place.

July 30, 2019 (QUEUED)

narcissus

your pain in my heart,
where do I start?
I opened my eyes to your
wants, your needs,
I let down my front,
dumbfounded I was to realize
it was you who deceived,
who could’ve known I’d
do the right thing,
years of devotion to another,
is this really even me?
or am I too caught in a
bout of acting,
I am starting to not
remember myself at all,
how did I become kinder,
the further in you I got lost?

yet even with knowledge
of who you really are,
I still remain recumbent
and confused on the
floor of your heart,
will I stay here forever,
even as you beg for me to leave,
how did the woman of your dreams,
become nothing more to you than
a tick or a flee?

I should be hurting for myself,
what a pity it to be called filth,
to be called out,
and then worst of all
to never again be called at all,
I should hurt for the silence
I’m subjected to,
and yet as I clutch the hole
in my chest from where you clawed
yourself free,
I still only hurt for you,
It’s only ever been about you,
It’s never been about me

I was never even a person to you,
but instead another source of
food in which your egotism feeds
please, if you can’t stop hurting me for me,
then stop hurting me for you,
because somewhere I know my pain
is also in your heart,
there it remains in the back
like a stove stuck on hot,
you may not feel the searing,
yet you always feel heat,
the more you hurt the ones
you wish to love,
the more you can’t seem to
find your own sense of peace

doomed you are to be addicted,
flustered and hurt,
curious as to why nobody calls
you kind or beautiful,
not anymore,
instead you live like a ghost,
petrified of being seen,
and when someone catches you,
in the light of truth,
you’ll reopen this wound,
you’ll enchant another
just as you did me

stranger please listen to what I feel,
because I’m so afraid you’ll
observe how I think,
this recipe has failed you,
it’s costed us this dream we
talked about every night,
if you can’t give me you then
give yourself a better character,
a better life

I don’t want to spend forever
with your pain in my heart,
I deserve to be happy alone,
especially if I’m losing what I
worked for,
what got me through the
hardest of nights

so please take my place,
love yourself well,
you may hate me now but
losing your coveted doormat
may trigger the final spell,
without my adoration,
you may be forced to
finally not look away
as you look at an image
of all that you attracted,
all that you hate,
all those your self regard forced
you to betray

June 4, 2019

innocent//dissonance

am I merely decorating the casket,
or am I flowering the vase?
what if I am only extending my
days to simply save face?

I want watch the end enfold,
I want to know my character,
I want to know how bold,
I want to finally know myself.

but only the end can know
what today is too naive to tell,
come to me,
whatever you are,
lift our veil.
witness the scars.

once I know me,
then I’ll know the rest,
I’m not looking for a life,
I just want the knowledge,
the hidden key,
so ready I am to do away
with my physical being.

If for not the gift of intelligence,
bid me the gift of relief,
the final release from the
strain of existence,
enemy or man,
release from the confines
of whatever I am.

February 14, 2019

be careful what you wilt for

am I a victim of
my own biology,
or am I victim of
my own pathology?

maybe I’m just receiving
all the earnings of my effort,
or maybe the lack thereof has
finally found its way into my veins,
I realize now that I deserve
all this tireless pain,
no one else is to blame,
yet I don’t want any help,
please nobody call
on my name or else.

I just want to go rising
back into the sky,
hopefully you’ll take
your ungrateful vessel
or send me spiraling
for fun or just to pass time,
I couldn’t blame you either way
you’re the curator of my body,
I’m the curator of my dismay.

no wonder my life has
only been one long act of
longing to be slain,
anything to stop
the synapses that
keep me enchained,
or my thoughts that are
nothing more than
recantings of low blows,
can somebody please just
make the thumping slow,
I just want to know that my
empathy is no more.

love is only a burden,
and trying not to love is
an impossible chore,
so release me from my head,
my heart and my hurt,
please take me back,
please listen to these words.

nature,
god,
energy,
or whatever,
please have a heart,
and take mine forever.

November 30, 2018

(mg)agic

down goes another pill
but I promise you,
I’m not looking to party
I’m not looking for a thrill
I’m just looking for a way
to rekindle my zeal

but dear those are so dangerous
people die everyday
yet the oddity is they’re what keeps
the sadness, the ache all at bay

It’s all so funny
yet oh so sad
what’s slowly killing me
is all that I have

people just don’t understand
the pills or their power
without them I’d be hanging
in closet by a chord
in as fast as an hour

the pills may kill me
in a later day,
but it’s the pills that keep me
from testing my immediate fate

it’s strange how the toxic
can feel so pure,
I’ve rarely felt alive
for someone or something
that wasn’t discreetly
making me worse

maybe it’s all me
maybe it’s the genetic curse,
I don’t really care,
I just no longer want to
be the weight other lives bear

I’m burdensome to each
family member who too
lacks interest or care
can’t you all just admit you
want me out of your hair?

could I throw the crutch away,
could I be that strong?
to get through both the
injury and the agony,
alone and abandoned
without ending it all?

I don’t know all the answers
but I know this truth,
the more sober I am the more
I want to ring nature’s bell

I’m too weak for the herd
I’ve run my course
please take me now
or else this is really
going to hurt

It’s so scary, who I am sober
so scary that just as I end this poem
I’ll reach for the bottles
strewn about my shelves
and down will go another pill
to save me from myself

maybe us dependents are all the same,
inputting what’s toxic only so we
can delay what we truly would rather
go through today

drugs often delay long
before they finally kill,
but is a life lived longer
whilst addicted even
the better reality to dwell?

if one can’t function outside of their
drug induced daze then why
not just end it right there,
reputations only grow more
shameful with each passing day

isn’t it better to be mourned
while there’s still mostly light,
than to end up the comatose junkie
who relieves everyone when
they finally OD for the final time

I really really miss them
we always tell ourselves
but we hardly ever saw them
and every time we did,
we had to hide all our things
then prepare all of our no’s

we just give in, we just give up
knowing some day
we’ll have to admit to
ourselves we funded our
own child’s fatalistic crutch

I’m just too afraid
to feel my death
what if it is as dull as the life
I no longer long to live

if my life has felt half numb,
then my death must not,
I need to feel that potency
that I’ve long forgot

even if it’s from a knife
so sharp I feel nothing but riveting ache
or a flashback to remind me
that my life wasn’t always
this barren, this pained

so many of us rather risk
excruciation than to be aware
aware of how little we are cared for,
aware of how little we are loved
who knew the slicing of skin
could serve any purpose at all

death now or later,
why do I even type this out?
I may have never been loved
and no temporary high,
or biologically fueled flashback
can change the facts

I was a child who raised themselves
I was a child who simply
should have never been had,
the awareness I was a mistake
is the only certainty I have
while of course next to the
most certain of all; the option of death

November 25, 2018

time-bomb

isn’t it funny?
I’m little miss “self righteous”
yet it is I like many who’ve
been brought into existence
with no rhyme, nor reason
then forced to end the randomness
in the most excruciating of pain

should I really be the one to tie the knot
maybe cover my head in bags and tape
or even take a bath then throw in the dryer
it all sounds so sickening
when you recall the truth
there’s one simple injection
that would end this infection

my life of suffering would finally end in ease
but we are humans we must stand mighty
we must stand tall
we all are worth something,
even if we end every other species
by the end of our walk

little miss self righteous
oh can’t you see
there’s so much beauty in the world
but first put on your name tag
and smile big for me

it’s not that I’m too lazy
It’s not that I can’t work
I simply don’t see why I should
live when it was never my choice
I am of no service
I am of no use

I will never smile big
and your tag won’t do
the simple opening of my eyes
is too much of a burden to bear
but it can’t be seen on a MRI
so this sadness I must continue to wear

I’d rather die gasping for air,
alone in my room,
than continue on in this
subjective land
that I’ve never found worth
the worry or the fuss

it is not I who is self righteous
it is not I who is sick
to force a cripple to walk
is much closer to definition

but humans must preserve
we must always go on
we’re proud to be at your service
we’ll even stitch up the head
you tried so desperately to blow off

November 11, 2018

Sometimes we want to be backed into a corner so tight, tight enough that there’s no other option, no other choice than finally expelling the courage we did not have before… and yet, it still ceases to appear.

Life’s true devastation is not that there is a lack of hope, but instead that there’s no situation ghastly enough to completely rid us of our hope.

If we could see our inevitable misfortune and accept it for what it is, than there would be no pain.

Instead there’s always this searing, this hope that it could be different, that it will be different, even if all chances are off.

I’d bury myself if it meant I could never again feel an ideal, a hope, a dream.

I don’t want to want better, not anymore.

End is certainty.

All I’ve ever wanted is certainty.

There is only one way… but how does one by pass their instincts.. their idealism?

I’ve yet to understand.

 

October 13, 2018

I know that many shudder at the thought of seeing who they could’ve been but I feel sickened and stuck because of that fact that I will never be able to truly see who I could’ve been. I long for nothingness yet I stay because in some way I resent that there is probably nothing, after all. I’m both soothed yet disturbed by the idea of that nothingness. A nothingness I have longed for all my life. So much so that it drove me to destroy the very potential I now yearn to see.

One would say the only way to see my potential is to continue to live and fight yet I don’t want that. I just want an image. One peak into a life that I am uncertain could’ve ever existed. I so desperately want to see just a flash of me being the woman, daughter, wife and mother that I always hoped I could be. I want to see a husband. I want to see a child. I want to see me raising that child into the air and pulling them back down into my arms. I want to see health, and esteem. I want to see who I could’ve been if I believed that happiness was something I deserved. Something I didn’t deprive myself of out of pride. A sin I am committing still, as I write.

It would be enough to look deeply down that poignant path and then once more follow the darker one until I finally find the easier, calmer, nothingness. It wouldn’t break my heart as many would expect. It would in fact mend it. I can accept that I’ve failed. I just want to know that there was another path and that I simply strayed.

Unfortunately I know that crystal balls and genies do not exist, and I know God would not reward me with such a sight. I don’t get to indulge in even the fantasy of the life I chose to ruin. Whether it be relationship I burned, the child I didn’t fight for or the human I starved, cut and beat for so many years.

I suppose it’s probably for the best. The closest I’ve gotten to this image is in my dreams. I realize after a dozen mornings waking to my own tears that I am not meant to see what life could’ve held… yet I still yearn.

I want to see everything I’m losing, at its highest potency. I deserve to know, I deserve to hurt, and I deserve to walk away.

Maybe it’s masochism, or maybe it’s just enough to allow me to move on.

This image is all I could see, blurred yet there through every panic attack and heartache. I simply want to see what has saved me all these years, in its utmost clarity then turn my back on it one last time.