Where Am I?

Where am I? I don’t even know. I have seemed to lost any direction I’ve had. I thought I was ready for change, ready to see the world, ready to finally be me. But who I am? I don’t know. I once was the girl with the smile to brighten the sky, then the girl who can make almost anyone laugh, then the girl with the broken smile, now I wear nothing. I don’t have the strength to put on a mask or to lie to the world. I can’t even lie to the one person who truly changed me. I’ve lost him somewhere in the distance. He’s still with me but the man I love is gone. His touch, his smile, and his kiss is no longer there. Maybe, it is lost with whatever I was. I don’t know anymore and I don’t know if things are going to change for the better. I think the small part of optimism is gone forever. 

Thunder

Flashes of light

Your dark blue eyes

Huddled under blankets

The taste of your lips

Pouring rain echoing outside

Scared to remember

Windows slammed shut

Scared to forget

Another crash

The feel of your skin

A shiver down my spine

Too easy to love you

A click of the lock

To painful to hate you

Scared

I’m terrified all the time. I don’t like to admit it but I am.  I’m scared I’m not good enough. I’m scared no one loves me. I’m scared of being completely alone. I’m scared of never living up to anything. I’m scared of dying. I’m scared of everything but the fear keeps me going. The fear pushes me out of it. The fear forces me to learn, to write, to feel. To not be numb, to not be broken, to live. To truly live and be alive. 

Love

Just another breath and it will all be ok. The burning pain shredding through my body will subside. I will live. You’ll love me again. Love me like the first moment you saw me. Love me like the first moment I brought you coffee on that chilly fall day or the moment I read you one of my poems. You chose me. You found me. You pulled me out of my proverbial darkness. You told me I was the only girl you ever wanted to love. I was to be your Mrs. forever and for always. You courted. I fell harder then I ever thought possible. I was the sad, lonely girl dying for love. Love that was nothing like my parents. Not angry or bitter or full of rage. True, pure love. Something to dream of to ride off into the sunset with. I fell without safety nets. A year flew by. I began to feel weak. Addicted to you. Wanting no-one or nothing else. You promised your love. You told me I was insane. I believed. Then she smiled your way and you hurt me. Humiliated me to a point I thought I would die. I lost 20 pounds and became a skeletal remain. Everyone said you were no goos. I tried. A month went by. You called and said you were wrong. I spit out the remaining pills. 

We fell back in sync like nothing changed. You flowered me with love. I grew afraid. You became distant and made me feel small. Tiny comments began to grow. You’re stupid, you’re fat, no one will ever love you. I deserved them. I needed them. He would apologize when I would cry. It was okay. He was sorry. He kissed me and everything was better. He would go away and I would crumble. Are you okay? People would ask. My puffy eyes would deceive. I’m fine. I would lie. He  beckoned. I ran. The word would seep in again. I began to fight back. He began to pull away. I begged for him to stay. He dangled himself over my fragile state and left a bruise across my chest. Our little secret, he would never hurt me again. 

I believed. I believed it all. I believed after every bruise, every cut, every black eye, every hospital stay, every lie, every shot to my dignity. Because I believe in love. I believe in true agonizing painful love. 

Drip

Tiny drips of blood

scatter like pieces of glass

on the cold, hard floor

Pieces that echo lost moments

lost love

lost pain

Drip

the color turns

red to black

Changing itself

or another word of killing

Killing bits that are taken away

forcefully

reluctantly

suffered

It drips until there is nothing left

a gaping wound

festering

painfully

until nothing

black

empty

Alone

Self Preservation is Learned Not Taught.

I never thought of myself as beautiful, hot, cute, and whatever adjective you would describe attractive. I always felt as if I was skinner, my teeth were straighter, my nose was smaller, or my skin was clearer I’d be pretty. If I was pretty, people would love me. I would feel accepted. I would’t feel as sad as I always did. Everyone has awkward teenage years but for some it hits harder then others. Braces, frizzy hair, a rather large chest, and at least 5 inches over most girls can make anyone feel self-conscious. I was made fun of, but who hasn’t? I tried to not listen to them but it creeped in on me but that didn’t matter. I was harder on myself then others were. I spent hours dissecting every tiny detail what was wrong with me. I know I’m not the only one either. Girls especially are instilled with this hatred of our looks. I have never met a girl who didn’t feel some anger about a particular feature or the way they looked in general. We are made to believe we should look a certain way because what we are told by everything in books, to magazines, to the big screen. Why do we do this to ourselves? I was rarely told I wasn’t pretty. I spent most of the age 13-on being hit on by men (some attractive, others not so much), loving parents who always told me I was beautiful, and friends who constantly reassured me that I was a knockout but it was never enough. I even have a way (to this day even) to completely shut down when someone gives me a compliment because it’s so instilled in me to believe they are somehow lying. Maybe, it’s deeply rooted by the thought that since I don’t get hit on by the type of men I want, that I’m not pretty. It’s a scary thought to think my worth is based on some ideal of a man but that’s what the world has taught me. I only matter if I guy I want, wants me back. Thanks, romantic comedies! In all seriousness, when I stepped away from a relationship with a man I wanted (and thought wanted me back) I began to reevaluate myself. I stopped thinking of myself that needed to be validated and began to think ‘hey maybe I can feel beautiful on my own’. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t a struggle. Hating your flaws for almost 15 years isn’t an easy habit to break. So I take it one step at a time. I do take care of myself physically (like everyone should) but I add in almost time just looking into the mirror telling myself that I’m beautiful. It sounds laughable but for the first time in my life, I believe it. I walk with confidence, I take photos of myself without cringing, and I smile a hell of a lot more. Sure, I have bad days but everyone does. I still pick myself up and make sure I take care of me because no one else will or should. I wish all women could feel this rather then having all this hatred of our own bodies being shoved down our throats. Maybe, this is a step. Maybe, admitting that we are flawed but that’s what makes us who we are and just saying tiny, silly words can actually make us feel better. Maybe one day, our daughters or granddaughters don’t have to feel this way anymore because they will believe they are gorgeous inside and out on there own. On can only dream…

And I hope you can, too. So go tell yourself you’re beautiful because I guarantee you are. 

Perception

Perception is key. We perceive everything the way we want to. It's rarely the full truth. How we perceive movies, songs, situations, and most importantly the perception of people. We think we know someone. We think since we've been out with them or meet them and heard there tales that we know them. We see them through others eyes and either good or bad light but do we ever truly know them? Change in inevitable and every single day our minds change. We aren't the same people, we are we evolving humans with a mask. So how can anyone ever presume to know us? Our thoughts, our ideals, and the thing that defines us the most, fear. The closet of friends, lovers, and family never truly understand the person we are. We are are slipping and sliding pretending to be someone. No one is ever truly themselves because perception is the key. No one wants to be there true self when they know it's never going to be the real version.