i have been a bit overwhelmed the last few weeks with some highly personal issues but its starting to be better now. so i shall post again. here are the next two compositions in my poem book:
i never thought,
that it would be me.
i never imagined,
what i see.
all thats happening,
is due to me.
i could keep it back,
but i dont have the key.
i lost myself.
somewhere there.
i cant go back.
its only fair.
jan. 10th 2009
i have to be the one,
to make it through.
i have to be the one,
because i cant be you.
i need a way to make it.
i need a way to survive.
i need a way to find the light.
i need a way to thrive.
there has to be something out there.
there has to be something true.
there has to be someone out there,
who can help me make it through.
jan. 10th 2009
so basically these are both about dealing with the very wide and intense range of emotions that are prompted by cutting. any type of self injury induced these strange, horrible feelings. yet, it is for these feelings that people do cut. it helps. in a weird sort of way, it helps us. i dont think it is always the healthiest way, for some, but i cannot deny the fact that it did help me in unimaginable ways. it also hurt me terribly. it is still hurting me now. cutting is hurting me more now, physically and mentally, more than it ever has before. its hard, but at the same time, its addictive. i cant stop. i would be lost without it.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
its been a while
its been a kinda long while since i have last posted anything. sorry about that. so anyway, i made myself get up and write this post because today is of some significance to me. today is january 8th ( well it was but its only 30 minute past so it still counts ) anyway, a year ago today i started cutting myself. morbid, i know. in honor of this special and oh so lovely anniversairy(did i spell that right?, i am gonna skip over the poem that comes next in my sequence and write the one that i wrote a year ago on january 9th, the day after i started cutting myself. here it is.
cutting
what it means,
to do this.
how they look,
cant be missed.
just how it feels,
tells it all.
nothing compares,
to my fall.
what it means,
to be this.
i am different,
i insist.
the truth lies there,
atop my skin.
what ive done,
must be a sin.
its what it means,
to feel like this.
january 9th-2009
yeah. so this one is where my poems start becoming more about my depression and cutting issues. um....other than that there is not much to say about this powm, its kinda self explanitory. i am gonna go back now and right the poem that i wrote before the last few, the reason i didnt post it before is that i wrote it down in the poem book out of order. so here it is.
truth
the anniversary,
of the world gone wrong.
so much pain and suffering,
surprised we lasted this long.
everyday i think of this.
the time when i cried.
no one knows how much i miss.
no one knows how hard ive tried.
they worried so much.
they still do for me.
no one could every touch,
get through and see.
but this isnt about,
what i have done.
this is your route,
what you spun.
and what happened here,
i wasnt part of.
causing all their tears,
it was just the start of.
but i wont be the same.
the very reason why.
and i wont be to blame.
i wont make them cry.
you could have waited.
you could have tried.
it didnt have to be fated.
but would you still have died?
december 6th-2008
i wrote this on my uncles birthday, its written about him. he would have been 42 that december 6th. but he committed suicide a friday in the middle of the summer in 2005. i wasnt close to him. but i was close enough.
i went with my mom and grandparents to florida to clean out his appartment and identify the body and deal with the whole arrangements that go along with a suicide. i was too young to know why he would have done it. but i guess now i know from personal experience as to why someone would chose to end their own life. i remember that when they brought the body out, when we were in the funeral home/morgue or whatever, i didnt want to see it. i didnt want to see my uncle with the bullet whole stuck in his scalp. i didnt want to see the cold expression that would be on his face. i wanted to remember what i could about him. when he seemed happy enough, to me, a small child at the time. i also didnt want to remember the pain that his choice caused my grandparents and my mom, and me.
i wrote this poem about my uncle steve. i love him. and i think he is still with me, though i dont usually believe in that sort of thing. i believe that he is my guardian angel of sorts.
this poem is my other favorite one of all the ones i have ever written.
cutting
what it means,
to do this.
how they look,
cant be missed.
just how it feels,
tells it all.
nothing compares,
to my fall.
what it means,
to be this.
i am different,
i insist.
the truth lies there,
atop my skin.
what ive done,
must be a sin.
its what it means,
to feel like this.
january 9th-2009
yeah. so this one is where my poems start becoming more about my depression and cutting issues. um....other than that there is not much to say about this powm, its kinda self explanitory. i am gonna go back now and right the poem that i wrote before the last few, the reason i didnt post it before is that i wrote it down in the poem book out of order. so here it is.
truth
the anniversary,
of the world gone wrong.
so much pain and suffering,
surprised we lasted this long.
everyday i think of this.
the time when i cried.
no one knows how much i miss.
no one knows how hard ive tried.
they worried so much.
they still do for me.
no one could every touch,
get through and see.
but this isnt about,
what i have done.
this is your route,
what you spun.
and what happened here,
i wasnt part of.
causing all their tears,
it was just the start of.
but i wont be the same.
the very reason why.
and i wont be to blame.
i wont make them cry.
you could have waited.
you could have tried.
it didnt have to be fated.
but would you still have died?
december 6th-2008
i wrote this on my uncles birthday, its written about him. he would have been 42 that december 6th. but he committed suicide a friday in the middle of the summer in 2005. i wasnt close to him. but i was close enough.
i went with my mom and grandparents to florida to clean out his appartment and identify the body and deal with the whole arrangements that go along with a suicide. i was too young to know why he would have done it. but i guess now i know from personal experience as to why someone would chose to end their own life. i remember that when they brought the body out, when we were in the funeral home/morgue or whatever, i didnt want to see it. i didnt want to see my uncle with the bullet whole stuck in his scalp. i didnt want to see the cold expression that would be on his face. i wanted to remember what i could about him. when he seemed happy enough, to me, a small child at the time. i also didnt want to remember the pain that his choice caused my grandparents and my mom, and me.
i wrote this poem about my uncle steve. i love him. and i think he is still with me, though i dont usually believe in that sort of thing. i believe that he is my guardian angel of sorts.
this poem is my other favorite one of all the ones i have ever written.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)