I'm not a girl who bargains
I take it and run
I give it up for none
i dont care about possibly better offers
or options
i refuse to end up with nothing
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
SunGlass
We lived in a glass house with rotting wooden frames.
I saw the sun everywhere
so distracted that I couldnt see that you were trapped within another room, wondering how to reach me.
The rot spread, buckling the wood, and everything started to crash and collapse.
You wanted to warn me but I was too dazzled by the all encompassing light to hear you yell my name.
I had gotten so used to your cajoling, soft footfalls and low voice that lightly vibrated across the glass panes.
You crashed through my glass fortress and pulled me out as it all rained down, shattering the sun into thousands of razors.
I cried at the pain, too distracted by it and my loss to realize you saved me.
You walked away.
I saw the sun everywhere
so distracted that I couldnt see that you were trapped within another room, wondering how to reach me.
The rot spread, buckling the wood, and everything started to crash and collapse.
You wanted to warn me but I was too dazzled by the all encompassing light to hear you yell my name.
I had gotten so used to your cajoling, soft footfalls and low voice that lightly vibrated across the glass panes.
You crashed through my glass fortress and pulled me out as it all rained down, shattering the sun into thousands of razors.
I cried at the pain, too distracted by it and my loss to realize you saved me.
You walked away.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Making of White Room
Your lips possessed a fire pressed lightly
Gentle and warm, with no reason to fight
myself
I was the beheaded lily, attempting to regrow.
My foundation already shaken
I revealed to you, my friend,
a sweet smelling and slightly sweating hand
With which you used to pull me closer,
with a touch of excitement.
But I misunderstood your purpose or you misunderstood your malice
I thought you held peace within your embrace
but I was strung and laced with oiled string
That were set aflame and burned grooves into my collarbone
And something thrilling,
tinged with a fear that I tried to overlook and bury,
Unearthed itself little by little
Anxiety building,
growing so tall that I had to force myself to let go
But it wasn’t soon enough
I hit the ground.
I shattered.
My anger died and was reborn into a monster
that I had hoped would consume us both
But it’s only me that stares out of this white window,
sitting on this white bed,
Looking out at a world that I won’t rejoin
Until I piece back together what I thought was mine.
My poem "White Room" was written about and partially in the psychiatric inpatient ward. I was there for around 5 days, partially because i had no medication to stem the tide of mental feedback i was having. looking back, it still hurts, but probably because the place i am in now still sympathizes with the girl who ended up in that hospital bed. Even if it's true, that I've gotten better, something in me cant say for certain that I truly have, although I have parents and friends that would say differently. Right now, my interests rarely lie in getting better. They more rely on BEING better. As for being better, I havent really managed it quite well.
In addition, one would think with all my boy problems that stem from my own mental unhealthiness, that I would give them up all together for awhile. Yet, everytime I think about doing that, I remember how unfair it was that the trauma from my years in middle school kept me from maturing socially in high school and college, especially when it came to dealing with sex and romance. It's not fair that I missed out on so much time and I dont want to miss out on any more. But god, I still feel like I'll tear myself apart from this because what I really want in my social life isnt within my reach. I want something different for myself. Most of all I want my brain to operate differently and function as if it still wishes to be alive and the person I am. No meds will fix that either.
Gentle and warm, with no reason to fight
myself
I was the beheaded lily, attempting to regrow.
My foundation already shaken
I revealed to you, my friend,
a sweet smelling and slightly sweating hand
With which you used to pull me closer,
with a touch of excitement.
But I misunderstood your purpose or you misunderstood your malice
I thought you held peace within your embrace
but I was strung and laced with oiled string
That were set aflame and burned grooves into my collarbone
And something thrilling,
tinged with a fear that I tried to overlook and bury,
Unearthed itself little by little
Anxiety building,
growing so tall that I had to force myself to let go
But it wasn’t soon enough
I hit the ground.
I shattered.
My anger died and was reborn into a monster
that I had hoped would consume us both
But it’s only me that stares out of this white window,
sitting on this white bed,
Looking out at a world that I won’t rejoin
Until I piece back together what I thought was mine.
My poem "White Room" was written about and partially in the psychiatric inpatient ward. I was there for around 5 days, partially because i had no medication to stem the tide of mental feedback i was having. looking back, it still hurts, but probably because the place i am in now still sympathizes with the girl who ended up in that hospital bed. Even if it's true, that I've gotten better, something in me cant say for certain that I truly have, although I have parents and friends that would say differently. Right now, my interests rarely lie in getting better. They more rely on BEING better. As for being better, I havent really managed it quite well.
In addition, one would think with all my boy problems that stem from my own mental unhealthiness, that I would give them up all together for awhile. Yet, everytime I think about doing that, I remember how unfair it was that the trauma from my years in middle school kept me from maturing socially in high school and college, especially when it came to dealing with sex and romance. It's not fair that I missed out on so much time and I dont want to miss out on any more. But god, I still feel like I'll tear myself apart from this because what I really want in my social life isnt within my reach. I want something different for myself. Most of all I want my brain to operate differently and function as if it still wishes to be alive and the person I am. No meds will fix that either.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
White Room
Your lips possessed a fire pressed lightly
Gentle and warm, with no reason to fight
myself
I was the beheaded lily, attempting to regrow.
My foundation already shaken
I revealed to you, my friend,
a sweet smelling and slightly sweating hand
With which you used to pull me closer,
with a touch of excitement.
But I misunderstood your purpose or you misunderstood your malice
I thought you held peace within your embrace
but I was strung and laced with oiled string
That were set aflame and burned grooves into my collarbone
And something thrilling,
tinged with a fear that I tried to overlook and bury,
Unearthed itself little by little
Anxiety building,
growing so tall that I had to force myself to let go
But it wasn’t soon enough
I hit the ground.
I shattered.
My anger died and was reborn into a monster
that I had hoped would consume us both
But it’s only me that stares out of this white window,
sitting on this white bed,
Looking out at a world that I won’t rejoin
Until I piece back together what I thought was mine.
Gentle and warm, with no reason to fight
myself
I was the beheaded lily, attempting to regrow.
My foundation already shaken
I revealed to you, my friend,
a sweet smelling and slightly sweating hand
With which you used to pull me closer,
with a touch of excitement.
But I misunderstood your purpose or you misunderstood your malice
I thought you held peace within your embrace
but I was strung and laced with oiled string
That were set aflame and burned grooves into my collarbone
And something thrilling,
tinged with a fear that I tried to overlook and bury,
Unearthed itself little by little
Anxiety building,
growing so tall that I had to force myself to let go
But it wasn’t soon enough
I hit the ground.
I shattered.
My anger died and was reborn into a monster
that I had hoped would consume us both
But it’s only me that stares out of this white window,
sitting on this white bed,
Looking out at a world that I won’t rejoin
Until I piece back together what I thought was mine.
Some New Cinquains
I fell.
From a distance
they saw, but I just kept
falling
-------------------------
Somebody
Please find my mind
oh god it's been three years
without
-------------------------
Goodbye
I loved you all
and I love me with you
I loved
dedicated to my graduating classmates at ISU
From a distance
they saw, but I just kept
falling
-------------------------
Somebody
Please find my mind
oh god it's been three years
without
-------------------------
Goodbye
I loved you all
and I love me with you
I loved
dedicated to my graduating classmates at ISU
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Come Winter Rewrite
It’s very cold
The endless Winter surrounds her as her moth bitten ash coat keeps her clothed, but never warm. The key to her survival lies within her frozen entirety: the icicles driven through her heart. These bloodless sacrifices keep her from needing warmth because the chill is already within her. There’s no defeat for there is no pain, only numbness
She walks from home to home to beg, absorbing those few sporadic bursts of warmth. She feels treated with human compassion just as rarely. Doors open for short period until they see what has come. One short blast of body warming heat later and they shut the door
It’s ok though. Empathy is not something that she expected, but those memories of the fleeting warmth cling to her. They intrigue her, embrace her, and give her reasons to keep walking forward.
Every once in awhile, someone wavers on indecision and their door remains open for longer than expected. In those bittersweet times, heat surrounds her being, letting her imagine what being completely warm might feel like. At those times, the icicles within her reveal their curse as they begin to thaw.
Pain suddenly pierces through her enjoyment of the freeing warmth and her numbness begins to drains away.
But it’s ok. She doesn’t expect friendliness for too long. She never hopes for her heart to truly heal by finding a safe and permanent place that would give her time to fully thaw completely. She doesn’t believe in the outside help that would be needed to stitch the fully thawed ripping remains of what froze her. Her faith is as cold as the rest of her
So she fed on the fleeting heat, never believing that she could want for more.
One night she knocked on a door. It was a door that wasn’t different from any of the others she’s knocked on. When he eased the door open, wondering who could bear to be in this bitter environment, he looked upon her and stared in shock and horror. Although she was used to horror at her image, she had never seen a compassionate expression like this be for her ice covered and thoroughly chilled self. She stared at him, dazed by his sympathy. She stumbled with shock when he ushered her inside his home. She stood in the hall awkwardly and he guided her to his fireplace, gathering blankets around her.
She warned him that her cold went deep and her pain once thawed would need a great amount of attention and care. That she could die if his warmth unfroze too much of her only to be kicked back into the cold.
They talked as she began to reveal her inner scars and he wasn’t frightened away. Even though he never said the words, he seemed to indicate that he would sing her into sleep and patch her scars. So, she fell asleep to his voice filled with promise.
She thawed. Her numbness gave way as the deep scars within her chest opened fresh and bleeding from the warmth around her. At first, he tended to her while she was sleeping but the scars were deep and so much more serious than he could ever have expected. The pain that should have awakened her was blocked by her belief that she had found somewhere safe and that she was going to be ok. She bled.
She woke from her slumber with bone quaking shivers and searing hot pains coming from within her. She realized she was outside again, the winter now even colder because her wounds suffered the agony of being open to the air.
She tried to move on like she had previously, home to home but never staying long. However, her heart wouldn’t heal and the blood kept the icicles that would have given her familiar relief from forming again. More and more she bled as she tried to keep going. She wasn’t ok anymore
Finally, she collapsed into the snow. Strangers walked by promising that eventually she would get help but she only lay dying, regretful of the false hope that had gotten her here. As she sunk further into the snow, she was filled with a dread that told her
“You’ll never be ok again”
The endless Winter surrounds her as her moth bitten ash coat keeps her clothed, but never warm. The key to her survival lies within her frozen entirety: the icicles driven through her heart. These bloodless sacrifices keep her from needing warmth because the chill is already within her. There’s no defeat for there is no pain, only numbness
She walks from home to home to beg, absorbing those few sporadic bursts of warmth. She feels treated with human compassion just as rarely. Doors open for short period until they see what has come. One short blast of body warming heat later and they shut the door
It’s ok though. Empathy is not something that she expected, but those memories of the fleeting warmth cling to her. They intrigue her, embrace her, and give her reasons to keep walking forward.
Every once in awhile, someone wavers on indecision and their door remains open for longer than expected. In those bittersweet times, heat surrounds her being, letting her imagine what being completely warm might feel like. At those times, the icicles within her reveal their curse as they begin to thaw.
Pain suddenly pierces through her enjoyment of the freeing warmth and her numbness begins to drains away.
But it’s ok. She doesn’t expect friendliness for too long. She never hopes for her heart to truly heal by finding a safe and permanent place that would give her time to fully thaw completely. She doesn’t believe in the outside help that would be needed to stitch the fully thawed ripping remains of what froze her. Her faith is as cold as the rest of her
So she fed on the fleeting heat, never believing that she could want for more.
One night she knocked on a door. It was a door that wasn’t different from any of the others she’s knocked on. When he eased the door open, wondering who could bear to be in this bitter environment, he looked upon her and stared in shock and horror. Although she was used to horror at her image, she had never seen a compassionate expression like this be for her ice covered and thoroughly chilled self. She stared at him, dazed by his sympathy. She stumbled with shock when he ushered her inside his home. She stood in the hall awkwardly and he guided her to his fireplace, gathering blankets around her.
She warned him that her cold went deep and her pain once thawed would need a great amount of attention and care. That she could die if his warmth unfroze too much of her only to be kicked back into the cold.
They talked as she began to reveal her inner scars and he wasn’t frightened away. Even though he never said the words, he seemed to indicate that he would sing her into sleep and patch her scars. So, she fell asleep to his voice filled with promise.
She thawed. Her numbness gave way as the deep scars within her chest opened fresh and bleeding from the warmth around her. At first, he tended to her while she was sleeping but the scars were deep and so much more serious than he could ever have expected. The pain that should have awakened her was blocked by her belief that she had found somewhere safe and that she was going to be ok. She bled.
She woke from her slumber with bone quaking shivers and searing hot pains coming from within her. She realized she was outside again, the winter now even colder because her wounds suffered the agony of being open to the air.
She tried to move on like she had previously, home to home but never staying long. However, her heart wouldn’t heal and the blood kept the icicles that would have given her familiar relief from forming again. More and more she bled as she tried to keep going. She wasn’t ok anymore
Finally, she collapsed into the snow. Strangers walked by promising that eventually she would get help but she only lay dying, regretful of the false hope that had gotten her here. As she sunk further into the snow, she was filled with a dread that told her
“You’ll never be ok again”
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Fight Agony Fighting
My chest is heaving painfully
Dry air bellows from my super sensitive lungs as I run
And run
There’s pain behind me
A indistinct rising mass
So I fight to run
And run
But my legs are so weak
They shake and spasm from exhaustion
But I still force myself to run
Except now i only crawl
Finally something whispers in my head
“what happens if you stop fighting”
the whisper trips me and I go down
I stay down
And the pain washes through me sharp
But as I am whisked away
My poor body is relieved
Dry air bellows from my super sensitive lungs as I run
And run
There’s pain behind me
A indistinct rising mass
So I fight to run
And run
But my legs are so weak
They shake and spasm from exhaustion
But I still force myself to run
Except now i only crawl
Finally something whispers in my head
“what happens if you stop fighting”
the whisper trips me and I go down
I stay down
And the pain washes through me sharp
But as I am whisked away
My poor body is relieved
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