Help me
I’m falling
These colors blurring
So fast
The dimensions
They’re going
Not falling
Along
Help me
I’m falling
And everything hurts
They’ve already left
Long before this
They don’t care
They don’t know
My pain isn’t enough
Help me
I’m falling
And it’s one of those times
When everything around
Comes crashing down
And all you want
Is a little
HELP?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Hiding.....?
You think our lives
Aren’t intertwined
We don’t have pasts
To leave behind.
Don’t you see
It’s our façade
Cover up our hurt
With a smile and nod.
We love our families
Lives and riches
But the holes in our hearts
Can’t be laced over with stitches.
I’m so weak
When I cry through the night
Every hour, minute, second
It’s these feelings I fight.
We’re all so much loved
By these people at our side
Why then, do we feel
The feelings we hide?
Do you see?
It’s shackles at my feet
Knowing she left me
The mother I’ll never meet.
Aren’t intertwined
We don’t have pasts
To leave behind.
Don’t you see
It’s our façade
Cover up our hurt
With a smile and nod.
We love our families
Lives and riches
But the holes in our hearts
Can’t be laced over with stitches.
I’m so weak
When I cry through the night
Every hour, minute, second
It’s these feelings I fight.
We’re all so much loved
By these people at our side
Why then, do we feel
The feelings we hide?
Do you see?
It’s shackles at my feet
Knowing she left me
The mother I’ll never meet.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
From me, to you.
I’ll never trust no one
Not in my life
But you can’t worry about me
When you’re not alright.
It hurts more to see
The tears in your eyes
Than it does in the mirror
When they reflect back in mine.
I want to help you
So freaking bad
It’ll help me forget
All the pain that I’ve had.
Maybe you can’t now
Do I understand why?
Maybe I do
But I can’t watch you cry.
Nothing in the world
Will ever be set
Exactly how you want
Or how others expect.
You need to smile, look up
Remember you’re great
Because when I think of you
I know our friendship was fate.
Not in my life
But you can’t worry about me
When you’re not alright.
It hurts more to see
The tears in your eyes
Than it does in the mirror
When they reflect back in mine.
I want to help you
So freaking bad
It’ll help me forget
All the pain that I’ve had.
Maybe you can’t now
Do I understand why?
Maybe I do
But I can’t watch you cry.
Nothing in the world
Will ever be set
Exactly how you want
Or how others expect.
You need to smile, look up
Remember you’re great
Because when I think of you
I know our friendship was fate.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
the seemingly perfect life
They always say
you live the perfect life
you've never had to
make a sacrifice
and the worst thing is
you know that its true
they all have it worse
worse than you
So you start to believe
that the pain can't be real
there is no reason to feel
what you think you feel
But when the tears start coming
you just get up and go
you hide behind a smile
and no one seems to know
because support can help
but it doesn't heal
it will all come back
the pain you feel
The smile on their faces
you just can't help but cry
the happiness they found
makes you die inside
then that makes you feel
like you not a good friend
but how do they find
happiness in the end?
so you tell you self
be quiet and hide
the "unnecessary" pain
that you feel inside
But when the tears start coming
you just get up and go
you hide behind a smile
and no one seems to know
because support can help
but it doesn't heal
it will all come back
the pain you feel
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Dreams.
“Shhh. Shhh.” Her hair is the color of the sky that burning, dark night. Her face is unreadable through the shadows, her features undefined as she looks down to the cloth in her arms. “Shhh.”
Was she beautiful? Do I look like her? In a crowded room, would I be able to point her out?
The city is bustling, though it must be late. She is rushing, for reasons unknown. She glances down to the cloth bundle in her arms.
How long had she been planning this? Did she know what she was doing?
“Shh. Shhh. Zhè shì zhèngcháng de.” Her voice is so quiet, speaking to the cloth in her arms. The city is in constant motion. So is she.
Did she really say this, or would I like to think she has? Distorted, that is what it is.
There are two buildings, side by side. Between them, a space of a foot, maybe two. Trash, not large amounts like most of the city, litters the burning cement.
Did she know what could’ve happened? Did she even care?
She ducks into this tiny alleyway. It is so dark, serious. She bends down, places the cloth bundle in a place among the trash.
No…
She peels back the blanket, just a bit. Tiny eyes, staring up. She turns away, leaving all this. All that could’ve happened, all that did not.
What was it about me? Why did she want this badly for me to be rid of?
There is this new life, crying out, now. Lost, not yet found. The sounds of the city drown out all the loss of that little alleyway.
When I see her leave me, I know I’m such a waste of a person.
Was she beautiful? Do I look like her? In a crowded room, would I be able to point her out?
The city is bustling, though it must be late. She is rushing, for reasons unknown. She glances down to the cloth bundle in her arms.
How long had she been planning this? Did she know what she was doing?
“Shh. Shhh. Zhè shì zhèngcháng de.” Her voice is so quiet, speaking to the cloth in her arms. The city is in constant motion. So is she.
Did she really say this, or would I like to think she has? Distorted, that is what it is.
There are two buildings, side by side. Between them, a space of a foot, maybe two. Trash, not large amounts like most of the city, litters the burning cement.
Did she know what could’ve happened? Did she even care?
She ducks into this tiny alleyway. It is so dark, serious. She bends down, places the cloth bundle in a place among the trash.
No…
She peels back the blanket, just a bit. Tiny eyes, staring up. She turns away, leaving all this. All that could’ve happened, all that did not.
What was it about me? Why did she want this badly for me to be rid of?
There is this new life, crying out, now. Lost, not yet found. The sounds of the city drown out all the loss of that little alleyway.
When I see her leave me, I know I’m such a waste of a person.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
This is Why (My Story?)
So, this is my story. Not lying. Don't abuse it.
---------------------------------
She sits scared, alone
Within the confines of that small
Bright room, so ironic
With it’s beautiful light.
A fist hits the switch
Hers
Finally there is darkness.
To sit and think.
Closing her eyes
It is easy to see them
They’re all there
Her memories.
She is so small, fragile
Slipped among the trash
A blanket to keep warm
Though the air never wavers from fiery hot.
The world of the city
So loud, it drowns her out
She has given up crying
It will never be worth it.
The thing she will never remember
Is the most important
She can’t see it, though it happened
Being found.
Now, she is back
In that dark room
With the potential to be so bright
Just like her.
Like so many times before
She lays on the floor, seeing nothing
She begs to remember, fights
Comes up with blank memory.
I’m sorry, she says, don’t leave me.
For that is what she fears the most.
---------------------------------
She sits scared, alone
Within the confines of that small
Bright room, so ironic
With it’s beautiful light.
A fist hits the switch
Hers
Finally there is darkness.
To sit and think.
Closing her eyes
It is easy to see them
They’re all there
Her memories.
She is so small, fragile
Slipped among the trash
A blanket to keep warm
Though the air never wavers from fiery hot.
The world of the city
So loud, it drowns her out
She has given up crying
It will never be worth it.
The thing she will never remember
Is the most important
She can’t see it, though it happened
Being found.
Now, she is back
In that dark room
With the potential to be so bright
Just like her.
Like so many times before
She lays on the floor, seeing nothing
She begs to remember, fights
Comes up with blank memory.
I’m sorry, she says, don’t leave me.
For that is what she fears the most.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Wwitah's blawk
When Cameron breaks up with me, it’s fast and easy.
“You know what? Fuck you,” he says. Then he storms off in the other direction.
This is the seventh time this has happened. It barely phases me anymore, because I know that in about four hours he’ll miss me and won’t want to go a night without having sex or getting wasted together. So he’ll apologize and promise to be a better boyfriend. And even though I know he’ll never be a good boyfriend, and this is just going to happen a million other times, I’ll take him back.
“No thanks,” I say, in reply to Cam’s lovely word choice. The funny part about it is, by tonight, Cam’s going to want to, anyway—screw me, that is. It’s not worth it to think about it, though, because it’s 7:15 A.M., and now that Cam’s pissed, I have a bus to catch. Plus, I’m about 98% sure that I’ll be wasted during whatever happens between me and Cam tonight, and what’s the use in worrying about something that you’ll barely remember, anyway?
After Cam breaks up with me, I meet Elijah at the end of the street we both live on, where our bus stops to pick us up. Elijah isn’t much like Cam. In fact, the two really have nothing at all in common.
Cameron is the type of guy who will break up with you for the fifth time, just after having almost gotten you pregnant because of his lack of skill with a condom while drunk. Elijah, on the other hand, is the type of guy who has sent you an “anonymous” Valentine’s Day card every year since you were 6, and still thinks you have no idea who sends them.
I am aware that I should be dating guys like Elijah, however, I’d bet my life on the fact that he is a virgin who has never had more alcohol in his body than the sip people let their kids take on New Year’s. There are girls who go after sweet, innocent guys. I am not one of those girls.
“HOLLIS!” That is the greeting I get when I turn the corner and reach the part of the neighborhood where our cul-de-sac meets the main road, where our bus picks up and drops off.
I put my hand up, a pathetic acknowledgment that Elijah is standing upright and still breathing.
“Hey,” Elijah says, as he turns and takes a few steps closer to me. He is uncomfortably close, in a borderline creepy kind of way. “What brings you back to the bus stop? I thought you had a ride with Doyle?”
“Cam and I broke up.” I want him to shut up before I start to think I actually give a shit about Cameron. Elijah doesn’t get this, however, and proceeds to fix his face into this strange pouty-face that makes me want to kick him in the balls.
To restrain myself from doing permanent damage in inconvenient places, I turn away from Elijah, looking out to the main road. No one drives by at 7:19 in the morning.
It’s completely empty.
“You know what? Fuck you,” he says. Then he storms off in the other direction.
This is the seventh time this has happened. It barely phases me anymore, because I know that in about four hours he’ll miss me and won’t want to go a night without having sex or getting wasted together. So he’ll apologize and promise to be a better boyfriend. And even though I know he’ll never be a good boyfriend, and this is just going to happen a million other times, I’ll take him back.
“No thanks,” I say, in reply to Cam’s lovely word choice. The funny part about it is, by tonight, Cam’s going to want to, anyway—screw me, that is. It’s not worth it to think about it, though, because it’s 7:15 A.M., and now that Cam’s pissed, I have a bus to catch. Plus, I’m about 98% sure that I’ll be wasted during whatever happens between me and Cam tonight, and what’s the use in worrying about something that you’ll barely remember, anyway?
After Cam breaks up with me, I meet Elijah at the end of the street we both live on, where our bus stops to pick us up. Elijah isn’t much like Cam. In fact, the two really have nothing at all in common.
Cameron is the type of guy who will break up with you for the fifth time, just after having almost gotten you pregnant because of his lack of skill with a condom while drunk. Elijah, on the other hand, is the type of guy who has sent you an “anonymous” Valentine’s Day card every year since you were 6, and still thinks you have no idea who sends them.
I am aware that I should be dating guys like Elijah, however, I’d bet my life on the fact that he is a virgin who has never had more alcohol in his body than the sip people let their kids take on New Year’s. There are girls who go after sweet, innocent guys. I am not one of those girls.
“HOLLIS!” That is the greeting I get when I turn the corner and reach the part of the neighborhood where our cul-de-sac meets the main road, where our bus picks up and drops off.
I put my hand up, a pathetic acknowledgment that Elijah is standing upright and still breathing.
“Hey,” Elijah says, as he turns and takes a few steps closer to me. He is uncomfortably close, in a borderline creepy kind of way. “What brings you back to the bus stop? I thought you had a ride with Doyle?”
“Cam and I broke up.” I want him to shut up before I start to think I actually give a shit about Cameron. Elijah doesn’t get this, however, and proceeds to fix his face into this strange pouty-face that makes me want to kick him in the balls.
To restrain myself from doing permanent damage in inconvenient places, I turn away from Elijah, looking out to the main road. No one drives by at 7:19 in the morning.
It’s completely empty.
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