Poetry: Lachrymose

Grant them peace, their hearts weep.

I see a girl who forgot to do her homework assignment. It was worth half her grade and now she will have to retake the class the following year.

I see a boy who struggles with internal emotions as he tries unsuccessfully resolve his conflicting emotions regarding a family suicide.

I see a girl who tries to hide her continual pain that she has dealt with for several years.

I see a boy who has tied himself up in so many commitments and has given himself so many responsibilities that he is drowning in a sea of stress.

I see a girl who has made choices to make herself ostracized and lives with a sinking feeling that she doesn't matter nor has anyone close to herself.

I see a boy that struggles with identity and staying true to his values that even he doesn't understand well enough to fight for them.

I see a girl that has stuck herself between her past and her future, refusing to give up either world- losing both in the process.

I see a boy that doesn't know how to interact with others except with formalities and distance. As he is buried in his responsibilities and work he doesn't know when or how to turn to others.

I see a girl that seeks to be closer to her morals and live sinlessly but doesn't know how to get rid of her earthly ties that trap her, bind her, tease her apart, mock her without compassion.

I see a boy who is so torn between his desires and his options that choosing nothing and becoming numb to his emotions to avoid decisions and conflict has literally become easier for him.

I see a girl who is lost and broken. I see a boy who has been destroyed and left emotionless. I see them laying there on the side of the road, collecting car debris as they fight a losing battle to get up and overcome. I see them lost, stuck, broken. But I cannot reach them. So I watch.

I see a young girl full of spirit and spite, full of hopes and dreams... grow up. As she encounters the world it stabs her. As she attempts closeness with those around her, she becomes an object of abuse and scorn. Her spirit gets worn down. Her spite fades into despair. Her hopes abandon her. Her dreams fade away with her tears. Now she is left with none of her originality at all. No one comforts, no one understands, no one sees.  Her vitality is depleted. Without the energy to add life back into her body, she will continue until death as a shadow of who she once was.

I see a boy whose body betrayed him. With puberty hit depression. It hit him hard. He stumbled out of control and hurt a lot of people because he was blinded by his own pain. He lost connection with almost every person he knew. He did poorly in school, having to repeat classes, even grades. He spent a great deal of time in mental health institutions and juvenile detention. Now he is older and is trying to leave his past behind so that he might have a future free from who he once was. But his depression traps him down, holding him hostage. He does not know if he will ever be able to get free.

I see them. I see them all. And I stand, trapped. For while I see this brokenness, I have none. For while I witness this despairing life, I am lifeless. 'Harden your heart,' I tell myself. 'Turn away. Forget them.' But I cannot. For my heart weeps with theirs. For as I see them stumble, fall, break... it is impossible to look away without seeing it get better. It never does, so watching this sink becomes addicting. Hoping for an outcome that never dawns.

I see a boy who chose his path too late and lost it all.

I see a girl who lost patience a little too quickly... and it destroyed her values.

I see children born perfect become teenagers that get swamped in this world of greed and falsehood so that when they are adults their lives and hearts are both empty. Their dreams are depleted and there is nothing for them to look forward to.

I see a stumble lead to a scraped knee that gets infected so badly that the leg is amputated and that example gets glorified and out of fear no one does anything out of fear of a stumble... leading themselves to nothingness.

And they don't see each other because their own pains are quite large. And then all come to me, hoping that I'll have an answer. But my mouth is mute, my lips are sealed. My hands are tied down. So I just gaze on them. They call me lachrymose but they envy me for they know I have no personal issues or pains. They envy the one who is trapped because they feel trapped and it fill me with pity.

Grant them peace, their hearts weep.

Poetry: Her

I look at her
And pretend not to see
The girl that I love so much
Is turning into me.

The music that inspires
The kinds of friends she desires
The jokes that are told
The issues that are discussed

I look at her
And all I see
Is this girl I loved so much
Falling away by
Turning into me.

This is the price to be paid.
This is all on me.
My wretchedness
In her proximity.

Will she fall like I did?
Will she make the same mistakes?
Will she stay pure and wonderful?
Will she regret her life now?

I remember her age.
I remember living that exact same life.
I remember those hopes and dreams.
I remember how it hurt when it left... fell away... went.

Will it leave her?
Will it hurt?
Will I be there?
Will I watch?

I look at her
And pretend not to see
The girl that I love so much
Is turning into me.

I'm White

You don't understand, you're a white kid.

Just admit to your WHITE PRIVILEGE already!

I've never seen a white girl with a butt before... I mean, unless they're fat. Really fat.

What do you mean your family cooks? You're white.

Let's see... you're a white, blonde, teenager with rich parents. You do drugs.

What stresses or problems could you have, wimp? You're white.

I bet you're really smart because damn girl, you white.

You looked at my deadlocks and smiled. Do I look funny to you, white girl?

You're probably crap in bed because you're white.

I'm just so stressed right now, I have all these problems... but like you would know anything about that, you're a white kid. Your biggest stress is probably whether to buy 3 outfits or 4.

Girl, I ain't got a clue as to what to say. I mean... I got all these pent up feelings and shit you know but like I feel like I ain't telling you, dawg because as a white girl you don't understand.

How does it make you feel? Knowing that your grandfather was a slaveowner and mine was a slave.

Minorities need scholarships dedicated just to them because since you white you already ahead of the game. Telling me otherwise is just racist.

Well of course you short, you white.

Hey, hey, gringa... let me show you what a real lover looks like.

Hey chica, pay attention to me! What? Since I ain't white now I ain't good enough or something?

Cracker! Hey, you! My friend here said he wanted to taste a little cracker. Or are you saving yourself for Polly?

Girl, I'm from the hood. But you wouldn't know anything about that... coming from white suburbia.

Poetry: The Problem

The problem is that I can see it, not that I can't.
I can imagine saying yes and staying true.
I can imagine being close with you.
I can imagine giving all of myself to you.

The problem is not in our proximity but on my fears.
I fear getting close to others.
I fear embracing what I feel.
I fear where my feelings lead.

The problem is not in our differences, rather we are the same.
I know just how close we can be.
I know just how far I can take you.
I know just how you think for I understand me.

The problem is
me.

I give you labels that you can't fit under
In hopes that they'll limit your control over my heart.
I tease you so that you'll never know
The ways that your idiocy makes me appreciate you.
I trust you with dumb secrets in hopes that
Your reliance upon them to define me would end your quest.

For some dumb reason...
I like you.

I don't want to.

Your mannerisms irritate me.
Your outlook on life depresses me.
Your figure displeases me.
Your views on who I am sadden me.
Your smell disgusts me.
Your past of traveling disheartens me.

But when you smile and look at me
But when you do what you hate for me
But when you get dragged along on one of my crazy adventures

I think for a brief second...

Life with you could be good.

And I can picture it.
How we would be together.
What we would do.
How we could change each other.
Our plans.
How we should make life better.

And it scares me.

Do you see me that way?
Of course not.
Is it at all realistic to want that?
Of course not.
Would it be worth my time?
...

I'm not what you want.
Not what you need.
We could be together but
Who would that help?
What reason would I have?
It's illogical.

So.

The problem is thus.
Am I overthinking a strange friendship
or
Ruining my chances at a life with you
or
Causing myself harm by always putting myself into these situations?

I friend those I can become too close to
Then ruin our proximity with feelings
To end up all alone and abandoned.

I friend those who will never love me.
So even as I type this, I know.

The problem is that I have a problem
That you'll never see.

Poetry: You See Love

You asked me for a life story, and I only told you a list of some negatives.
I ambiguously said I crossed a gray line that should have been black.
I said that life was rough.
But.
I never told you of the times that I smiled in the sun,
Or felt that my family and I were one.
I failed to mention and you did not question
My convictions of loyalty
And why they exist.

I didn't tell you that my bad times were only poor
And my memories are flooded with good, overwhelming any trace.
I didn't tell you that my issues were all on me, as they always are...
As my emotions always get in the way of rationality.

I didn't explain that my family is my blood
And that even the ones I am far from,
I would die for.
I didn't explain that my family is my cornerstone
And that lacking even one
Would crush me.

You want some truth, boy?
Do you really want to know who I am?
You say I'm hiding from myself,
But that's only half true.
I'm scared of myself.
I live in constant terror of becoming what I fear the most.
Me.

My family has a history of depression
Honestly I think I have it too.
But I'm so scared of showing symptoms
That I go out of my way to be outrageously extraverted.
To always be others' beacon of sun.
I've seen what depression does, up close, personal.
I don't want to be seen like one of its victims.
I don't want to be locked up, treated, abused, and pitied.
So I pray to God that he'll give me the strength
To get the day through without faltering a smile.

I fear the quiet.
In the quiet, thoughts creep into my head,
Mocking me.
Telling me straight what I always fear to be true.

I am useless.
I am unloved.
I am a bother to others.
I am not smart enough to fake it much longer.
I am not smart enough to not fake it.
I am easy to forget.
I am abused and mistreated because my needs are so counter to everyone.
The introverts think I'm too energetic.
The religious think I'm too outgoing and materialistic and promiscuous.
The jocks think I'm lazy and lack interests.
The TV fans think I'm sheltered.
The sheltered think I'm insane.
The insane avoid me.
Everyone avoids me...
When's the last time someone approached me and not the other way around?
I can't even remember because it was so long ago.

I long for comfort
For warmth
For acceptance
For love
To be the cause of someone's genuine smile.
I long for happiness
For understanding
For grace
For peace
To be a beacon for the Lord.
Yet I fear I am not meant to be.

I long to connect with others.
Not in words.
Not in action.
Not in presence.
But it all.
With everyone.
I want to know others so well that I can live in their lives as part of their memory.
I want to be someone relied on and trusted completely.

This makes me a parasite.
I know.

No one wants this but me.
Even hugs freak most people out.
And that's just my starting line.
I have never been able to connect very far with anyone...
They have all gotten extremely good and saying "no" and pushing me away.

Every time you say, "no".
Every time I hear, "that's only okay if you were..."
Every time I see deeper connections with others...
My heart gets bruised a little bit.
Not a lot, just a little.
It hurts worse, knowing that you don't mean to cause this.
That you live in ignorance of your sword.
I know you say and do so to be admirable, faithful, kind.

But I feel like a fish out of water;
Pretending that I need air when that is the substance that is killing me
All because everyone else wants air
And the water is so cold alone.

I live in fear that I'll break from this intense internal struggle.
I live in fear that someone will one day see inside my prison.

I say I don't fear a lot...
Truth is, I fear my desires.
I fear the truth even as I speak it.


But you know none of this.
You see a girl, laughing a fake laughter
And wonder what is concealed behind it.
You hear the bad stories of my past
And question how they made me who I am.
But in reality, it is the happy times that made me so weak.
You notice my clinginess
And believe it is you that causes it.
But it's not.

I love too hard too fast too many
Because I fear that I am not.
Believing that I never could be.

Truth is, I'd die for you.
Truth is, I'd go through torture for you.
Truth is, I'd do whatever you asked of me.
Needed of me.
If you'd only accept me.
Me.
Not the girl you see, with the fake smile.

Under her, is me.

Understanding Women: It's a Monthly Ratio

So a few nights ago I was talking with one of my buddies about the difference in the sexes and I had this really great story/metaphor explaining things and he really understood what I said and was able to really come to terms with reality. This is an attempt to recreate that conversation because seriously, guys... you have absolutely no grasp on the female craziness. This will not be nearly as great as what was said that night... at 1:30am... on the spot... because life doesn't work that way.

For starters, you cannot think of brain patterns of the sexes similarly. There are different neurons firing when they are presented with the exact same stimulus and thus as a sex, a situation is viewed differently. Thus, men understand men and women understand women. But just because you haven't gone through the same experience doesn't mean you can't acknowledge their struggles.

Every two weeks for a week long, women are horny. Now, this is nothing like a male's horniness because it has different causes. Men are horny because they become stimulated, their body is reflexing itself, and blood flow. Women are horny due to their cycle and stimulation. Primarily the first... I feel like I only ever get horny because my body forces me to.

Think of woman's month (28 days) like this.
Days 1-7: normal week
Days 8-14: horny week, best time to become impregnated, constantly wet, definitely "in heat"
Days 15-21: normal week but slightly aggravated for no reason, cramping
Days 22-28: period week, cramping and bleeding all the time, the extra wetness causes horniness
Days 1-7: normal week

Think of a man's month (28 days) like this.
Days 1-28: normal month

Why am I mentioning this? Because for women, hormones control everything, all the time. Hormones have a strong impact on emotion, reasoning, and interpretation of events. Ever wondered why a girl was really flirty and awesome one day but the next refused to talk and shut you down? Because of hormones. I know it's social suicide to blame PMS, but in reality... everything a girl does is because of PMS. You have to understand it to be able to accept and deal with it without using it as an excuse for not getting what you want.

For example, crushes.
Guys are pretty consistent in their emotions because they aren't on a cycle, they are steady. When they like someone, they like them. End discussion. But when a girl likes someone, that's only one of the many emotions battling in her head.

Thoughts about a crush occurring within a 10 second interval:
Wow, I like him
I can't stand him right now
He looks good today
Would he just fix his hair already?
I love his smell
No, I hate how he smells
But I want to breathe in his scent
Why do I even like this loser
I want to marry him
Crap, he's looking at me
Why do I care?
I am fed up with him
I really want to talk with him
He's so dorky looking
I am so infatuated with this guy
His hands are always so freaking clammy
I want to hold his hand anyways
Does he like me?
Of course not, why do I like him?
I can't wait to tell him ___
I want his children
Ew, sex is gross, imagine being naked in a room with him...ew
Oh great, he's coming over
Yay
Gah
So not ready for this
I haven't seen him in so long

All these thoughts swim in your head at once: positive and negative and sometimes it's hard to understand where they are even coming from because you don't seriously believe half this garbage, but you think it anyways. And it's always in there, pounding away. All of these contradictory thoughts, all together, battling each other for control and it's really hard to sort what you really feel and what it seems like you're feeling due to who knows what. It gets worse when you are horny because primal urges become the strongest voice in your head and it shakes and scares your morals. Honestly, you like your crush. Yet in your head, nearly as strong are feelings of strong negativity against them. For absolutely no reason at all. They're just there... in your head. For no reason. They never go away either, it's quite a dilemma.

It's like... the world is a straight path, everyone has to walk forward on a one-way journey. And this is easy for men because they think in a straight-forward manner and thus the world reflects how they think and live. But... women are caught on the merry-go-round. Their bodies force them to act on this loop, going around and around every month with the only consistency being between certain weeks in a month instead of the day-to-day basis of a man. But the world is moving straight so they struggle to move forward while being spun around and around and around. But they aren't build to walk straight so that causes even more turmoil and it's so frustrating.

There is no day-to-day consistency and it's a very active struggle to choose which of the many thoughts that are in your head will be in the majority so you act with stability. This is why people say don't trust your feelings unless you hold them for more than 4 months: not because you don't know your feelings sooner... it really is faster to fall in love that that... but since you ride a merry-go-round you have to make sure that you know what you feel is what YOU feel and not what your body does before making any commitments to a person that may just be an object of your hormones' desires.

And any who says that ladies just need to get it together and control their hormones has not seriously known a woman. I mean, be in someone's presence for a great length of each day for a two month time period and see how different they act while being themselves. They will act differently but they are trying not to. It's really easy to tell where a woman is in her cycle based on the slight differences she has in her behavior during the month. And this isn't being sexist, this is just straight up honest.

Women live on a merry-go-round of hormones and chemical balances that men do not experience as their bodies do not function in that way. Therefore, take whatever is said with a grain of salt... please.

Extroverts Have No Friends

*Nothing stated below can be used to interpret the nature of the author of this blog as an individual.

Extroverts have no friends. Seriously, we do not. We have an overabundance of acquaintances that view us as "that crazy person whom they hang out with but are not really friends with but that's okay because they have a lot of friends, right?" Wrong, wrong, wrong. Everyone views me that way. I go out of my way to sit with you at lunch and strike a conversation and invite you to hang out and do random crap with me and you view me as an acquaintance because I act that way constantly with admittedly a seemingly large group of people that do not know each other. I don't really know them either but we eat lunch at the same time of day so there's that.

We need constant stimulation that doesn't rely on group size (it's still needed) but the quality of conversation. We long to be involved and thus often talk but want to listen just as well if others were interested in striking the conversation. Others usually do not and thus listen to the chatterbox over here, making the distance between us even wider as I learn nothing of you or your life except the stupid, simple, material answers to conversation-starter questions while I am the only one handing out sensitive information about myself.

We never spend enough time with anybody that we know. Ever. I could spend 18 hours in a day with someone and the second that they are gone I regret saying goodbye. It doesn't matter if we are close or not, we need more people time than can ever be offered. It's not because we like you, in fact we rarely flirt with those that we socialize with but that does not mean that the time spent together was not treasured or valuable. In fact, I need it to feel like I'm living. I hear introverts need alone time to gather themselves and think or whatever but when I am alone, it's because no one cares enough about my needs to go out of their way for me they way I do every time I see them. I go crazy when I am without company and it hurts to know that no one knows where I am or how I'm struggling through my life. I sit there, getting more and more morose by the second, unable to do my work without feeling and hearing life around me.

I have a large family that I do not see enough of. And it pangs my heart to think of the distance between me and them. Granted, I love that they love me... but that doesn't stop me from thinking that they must love others more and care for them more when I'm not the one that they want to spend time with or use as a crying shoulder. I constantly think, "What must I do to be good enough for you, because obviously I'm not there yet. If I were, then we would spend time together because there's nothing that shows love greater than sacrificing your time for others." I approach people at school in a similar fashion... yes, we eat together, and yes, I talk at you, and yes, we spent a "good" portion of every weekend together but... we're not friends yet. And I get so confused as to how all these introverted people can assume we're friends when we don't rely upon each other or seriously talk and debate and hang out just to hang out; with no more reason upon it than that, regardless of homework load or any other excuse.

I am miserable all the time, most of the time. When I am surrounded by others, I can only think of how many minutes are left until we depart and how many hours, days, weeks, months, years... will pass before we will meet again for another short period of time. And the time will be short, it always is. If I am having a bad day, a smile is still latched onto my face, strangling my emotions because no one is willing to know or share the load of stress I constantly feel. I start the conversation, I choose to seek you out, I notice the inner conflicts in you and jest to make you feel better because I need that stimulation to feel as more than just another bundle of cells formed to make yet another, dumb, useless, human body bag. I ask you questions about your life, plans, goals, successes, failures... and I respond positively to you always. But you never ask these things back. So how can we be close? We aren't. We never were. I am a parasite living off your existence and you view me as such.

How can the very thing that I want cause me so much sadness? I just want company but when I seek it out it always rejects me. I'm the person in our lunch group that thrives off the conversation without being in the inside jokes. I support your life without knowing any of it. I cheer up your bad days without knowing why it was so bad. It's like... I'm reaching out into the darkness for someone's hand but just when I'm about to grab it, I notice that they prefer the isolation in the dark, their arms folded across their chests, content to live alone in the darkness... and there's nothing I can do to convince them that the dark isn't scary but it's certainly lonely and oh how much I long and desire and crave and seek someone's hand to feel like I'm not useless in the darkness. But they don't want my hand, so I can't offer it. So I can't grab onto someone else's hand for my sake because I must let their hands remain free for their sake. And this makes them happy, which in consequence I am glad for, but that does not stave off the isolation and rejection I feel.

Raise your hand if you're the only one who raises their hand in class when the teacher asks a question. Who stands alone on an issue because it's better to stand for beliefs than to hide in the safety of the group. Who has been called unsympathetic, demanding, loud, obnoxious, ignorant, or unintelligent just because you're not an introvert who values alone time and views everyone as unconnected individuals who have no effect on others. That's me. But because I raised my hand, because I chose to speak out, I have lost the right to hold emotion. Their anger will come upon me in a wave and I have to face that. That is the social law. It's not that I'm confident to a fault... in fact I have very little confidence in myself. But I need opposition, conversation, interaction. And if I'm not getting it, I will find it out of need. Yes, I'm talking to 10 random strangers right now. And it's got me suck between YES PEOPLE, FINALLY and CRAP, THIS IS AWKWARD. Everyone thinks I have no social inhibitions but really my inhibitions about strangers aren't as strong as my need to be surrounded by others. So I stick around, antsy about making the choice to stay because part of me believes that leaving would be even worse and damn it, I need this. I am dependent upon others to feel alive. It is my drug of choice. I am addicted and my withdrawal symptoms are instantaneous, filling me with doubt and self disgust. How can I be worth anything to others if they don't want my company? How can they see positively if they don't bother to find out who I am? And so I tell them. So I seek out people and bother them, and yes, I fully know that you don't want me around, you're sick and tired of hearing my bratty voice that just goes on and on and on about crap you don't care about but frankly... I need to vent and it's gonna take quite a few people to get it out because frankly one person isn't enough to make me feel understood or loved. I need to tell my husband, my sisters, my brothers, my parents, my aunts, my uncles, my children, my neighbors, my friends, and the dog before I feel better. And they're never willing to give that to me. Because for some dumb reason I get to be one of the only extroverts in my family of extreme introversion. And it drives me crazy. Because if I ask too hard or talk too much or show them too much love, suddenly I'm pushy. I'm a jerk. I'm needy. I'm too intense. I'm around too often. I'm a loud mouth. I'm insensitive. I'm the person who gets friend-dumped for wanting to be in their lives. Sometimes I get friend-dumped by casual acquaintances that I've only talked to half a dozen times. And then I'm told that I'm being too dramatic and should go find people "like myself" to talk with because I'm driving their introverted selves mad. Well guess what? Introverts are way more common than extroverts, brat. It just seems the opposite because you're all too busy denying your existence as a social creature. What you witness as extroversion most of the time is just introverts finally opening up a tad because they're with people that they are super close with and can handle interaction in public for an hour before they go hide in their isolation-caves again. Not to diss on introverts or anything, but they literally suck away my happiness because I am forced to give in to their isolation all the time. And they don't understand how much it hurts... but you can't let them feel bad about it because you've been told this so often that you know it's a you problem and not theirs. And since you're the constant chatterbox of the group, obviously you never get upset or lonely, it makes no sense! So I smile and say "see you later," without letting them know how heavy the hurt is in my heart for letting them go... and since they never seem to want my attention or presence, I guess we're not friends either. No one wants to show me themselves or spend quality time with me. So I'm abandoned. Constantly. And the rejection hurts every time. I don't care about our reasons or prior commitments!

I just want to have a long deep conversation about crap, I just want to play cards until midnight, I just want to fall asleep in your lap talking about life, I just want to cook food and have you eat it, appreciating me. I just want to be in the same room as you while I work on my homework even if that means we get a little off track sometimes. I want to talk to you because your friend annoys me and I can't stand being around them so I need your company to feel better. I want to read a book in the same room that you're reading in. I want to talk about nothing and everything. I want make out with your for hours. I want to be able to want you and not get insulted for feeling how I do. Nothing makes me feel better than surrounding myself with a group of people with stars in their eyes with emotion and trust as we do what we do best: socialize.

But it's important to distinguish between fantasy and reality. And in reality... I have no friends. Not because I'm not a good person, not because I'm not loyal or trustworthy... actually I a good person, I am loyal, I am trustworthy. But. I am an extrovert and not one of those fakers who can pull of social interactions but still needs "me time". No. I am an extrovert who feels worthless without others around, causing suicidal thoughts in my loneliness. I interact out of need but no one knows the horrors of my heart. I am an extrovert.

And I have no friends.

Poetry: Plan

It's something special
We should do something
Then let us plan
Okay, plan time underway
Plan 1
Scratch that, plan 2
Scratch that too, plan 3
Modify that to plan 3.0
Okay but add music
That or this?
This
Okay now we need a cast
How many?
5-10
How about 15
Works

Assemble a crew
Assembled but
But what
Half won't respond
Not showing up?
Correct
They need to practice to partake
Indeed, so let's get more crew
1/3 crew dropped out
New crew is also unresponsive
Dedicated ones all have a mind for what they want
Reassemble plan into plan 4
Hate plan 4, plan 5
Crew won't do plan 5, they offer plan 6
Plan 6 is unrealistic, modify to plan 6.0
Crew overthrows new plan, plan 7
We agree on plan 7

Practice
Practice times have changed
New and old practice times are getting confusing
Messages are all private between single parties
Not a uniform idea for how to do this
Old crew that dropped comes back
Modify them into plan 7
Single practice time where all show up
No responses
They say "yes" but don't do
Practice time just for 1/4 group

Show up day of performance hours early
All the crew is there
Practice once
That was crap
Practice again
That was also crap
Close enough
Time for the show

Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Perform (5 minutes tops)

Dinner after?
Wait a while
Wait a while
Wait a while
Get food
Eat in 10 minutes
Talk
Talk
Talk
Bored
Bored
Bored

Time to go home.

Was it worth it?
Does it matter?
We'll do it again next year.

Poetry: Hanging

...I doubt...
the goodness of others
...Their humanity...
is gone in mine eyes
...They are small creatures...
unworthy of sympathy
...Sometimes I go through periods where...
I cannot see them
as anything more than bodies

...I give them roles in my head;
who they are and their limits
...To justify acting pleasantly...
to these little people
...But they are not my images...
so they break away from my boundaries
and this makes me mad
...So I disassociate once again...
no longer do I see them
...They are gone from my cruel eyes...

And that is how I relate to others
Through Psychopathic filters
Through a place of un-love and bias
No, I don't understand you
No, I don't know your pain
I just wish to be Holy and close to the Father

So I act like Christine,
Feeling like Phantom.

Poetry: Fallen

I could write a list of my strongest values
And I could adamantly tell you how strong they'd be
If a million soldiers came by and forced me to renounce
I would say I would choose death,
And you would believe me.

But when I see the one I love
And I view his crooked grin,
I wonder what I'd be willing to do
For him to fall in love with me.

I think of all my values
All the things that I most prize
And I'm not sure if it's a realization
Or a fear, but I...
I'm not sure what my limit'd be
For him to fall in love with me.

Poetry: Torture

Jeremiah 20: 7-12

You duped me, O Lord, and I let myself be duped;
you were too strong for me, and you triumphed.
All the day I am an object of laughter;
everyone mocks me.

Whenever I speak, I must cry out,
violence and outrage is my message;
The word of the Lord has brought me
derision and reproach all the day.

I say to myself, I will not mention him,
I will speak in his name no more.
But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart,
imprisoned in my bones;
I grow weary holding it in,
I cannot endure it.

Yes, I hear the whisperings of many:
'Terror on every side!
Denounce! let us denounce him!'
All those who were my friends
are on the watch for any misstep of mine.
'Perhaps he will be trapped;
then we can prevail,
and take our vengeance on him.'

But the Lord is with me, like a mighty champion:
my persecutors will stumble, they will not triumph.
In their failure, they will be put to utter shame,
to lasting, unforgettable confusion.

O Lord of hosts, you who test the just,
who probe the mind and heart,
Let me witness the vengeance you take on them,
for to you I have entrusted my cause.

Sing to the Lord,
praise the Lord,
For he has rescued the life of the poor
from the power of the wicked!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have been lied to.
I was told it was easy,
Just love God, follow his word, want him.
I heard the stories, the miracles, the victories.
Recalling upon the savior with pure awe.

I wanted this.
I wanted to be closer to the creator.
I did not know the price.
Hearing a story that gives warnings does nothing.
Ignorant and hopeful, I went into the dark.

Walking closer to God is painful.
It requires giving up your will.
It means being mocked for choosing love over the material.
Misunderstood, feared, and alone;
I walked with my angels and the Lord.

They claim that I do not know him.
They claim that my faith is wrong.
They claim that I lost my logic.
They claim that I worship demons.

Loving God truly means to sacrifice your being to him, for him.
Temptations sprout like weeds,
Pulling you into a web of lies,
Fighting to draw you back,
Satan laughs in rejoice at every fall
Into the sin he is slaved to.

Angered at a proximity to God he lost,
Satan rages in jealousy and attacks.
And oh, how painful and frightening
These events are.

Death cannot be delivered from a sinful hand.
Bound by his creation,
Demons do no more than they are permitted
But still rejoice in their ability to harm.

And oh, how they harm.
They strike at you.
Pull your body into fear and spit lies.
Rarely there is physical debris left afterwards...
But
That makes their marks no less painful.

And it's not just them.

To walk with God is deny oneself.
I am no longer controlled by the material.
The people I know and knew hold no bondage over me.
The sins I have been tainted with?
Bleached away in the terrifying light of the Lord.

Nothing is scarier than someone who has no bounds.
To walk and live completely in their belief and faith,
What a horrifying thought.
But this is what God asks.
And when we do, oh how our neighbors tremble.
They can only feel right again by casting stones.

Jesus said, make the weakest stone the cornerstone.
Our foundation is built on trust.
To trust completely, faith of a child,
This is what it means to love him.

How far will you go for your faith?
The world asks you.
Your mother, brother, father... asks you.
God asks you.
To have faith is to be tested.
Are you strong enough to rely on our creator?

Choosing God is not a "point of no-return", it is a choice made every second of every day and the answer can change at any moment in time. Can you handle that burden? The constant temptations swirl around and mock you for choosing a path that doesn't involve them. Your peers, your siblings, society... surely will never understand why you trudge forward into the darkness that God calls you to when they are scared to live without fluorescent lights. There will be many who disagree with your choice, actively seeking your destruction as long as you move forward. But if you learnt just one thing from playing addictive video games as a child, isn't it true that the closer that your character becomes to victory that the enemies become stronger and more difficult to move past?

I know all this now. I knew not this then.
When I started my choice,
How could I have known
The pain of choosing Love.

Yahweh; to you I pray.
Creator, love me.
Savior, judge me.
Spirit, guide me.
At least for this second, I will go on.
With my angel at my side and a bible in my hand,
God, I willing to do your will.

And this time I know the consequences.

Poetry: You, Brother

I've listened to all the words you say
The way they negative me... in every way.
You call me stupid; fine.
You call me worthless and dumb.
I can take some criticism.

You say that life would be better without me.
I try and ignore the feeling that you might be right.
You claim superiority and I fight myself;
Trying to make myself believe that you say these things
Because you fear that I might be better.

You say I don't swear because I'm weak.
You say I'm religious because I have no original thought.
You say that I take so long to do my homework because I'm dumb;
That truly smart people don't have to do the work,
Let alone have it take so long.

You say tears are for the immature.
You say all my friends are sluts because they flirt with you.
Why would they flirt with you?
(And even if they did, that does not make them such a horrible thing)

You make it a game,
Trying to see how many times you can make me cry.
And then you laugh as if each tear is a victory.
You say I'm ugly. I'm short. I'm fat. I'm stupid.

Yes, I heard you the first 100 times.
Please, say it again because apparently you don't think
That I heard you.
Well, guess what?
I heard you.

You say that I don't know love
(When I understand empathy better)
That I should be grateful to be appreciated by our parents.
As if we get treated differently by them
(If we chose the same actions, I'd doubt it)

You call me a hypocrite for being poor
And hating welfare.
For feeling sad when someone dies
When I believe in Heaven.
For wanting to preserve human life
While I live an omnivore lifestyle
For hating on feminism
When I point out some generalizations
(Because noticing that males are generally taller is sexist?)

You say that I hate you.
You say that I think life is better without you.
You say that I drove you to act this way.
You say that once again, it's my fault
For your actions.

You blame me for your faulty life choices.
You blame me for your insecurities.
You say that it's my fault that our sister is exposed
To the trash that you show her.
That her life would be better without mine.
Of course, you say this with profanity.

Eventually, I talk back.
Eventually, I snap.
Eventually, I cannot handle hearing all of this negative garbage
That you constantly spit at me
As if I was some vagabond on the street.

Then you want to fight.
You start with more emotionally based garbage
That you pretend supports your fake political views
That you use to argue that my God is a joke
That you tie into the secrets I idiotically told you once
So many years ago that I forgot.

Yet the pain is still fresh.

I hear it all
But I respond too.
So of course, you believe
That I "like the sound of my own voice"
And wasn't listening at all.
When every word you utter punctures my heart just a little more.

So you get madder and madder
And then you take a swing.
So I hit you back
And then we start kicking each other.
And you think it's funny.
So I end it.
And then you take another swing
Which of course,
Bruises me.

And then you make it out
As if the fight didn't happen
That I threw one
So you threw another back
Even though yours were stronger
More painful
And left bruises.
Mine never did.

Then again,
You never did know how to hold back.
I almost always do.

Then you complain
As if I forced you
To get into trouble
As if it was my doing
That made you act poorly.

And so the cussing begins
Again.

The mocking never stops.
That evil glare always is looking down on me.
It haunts my nightmares
And scares my fears away
With its horribleness.
Great monster in my closet,
I wish you were a demon.

At least then, I could summon a priest
To perform an exorcism.

You say that I'm such a "daddy's girl"
When you try your best
To rival him in personality.
And all the actions you perform in anger
Are the ones he did less severely
That you loathed and swore in oath
To never repeat yourself.

But of course,
Unlike our father,
You never regret the decisions you make;
Because of course,
You blame them on me.

You mock my dedication
My choice of friends
My negative opinions on things that you highly value
My perseverance
My values that difference from yours
My hard work (as if trying your best is pitiful)
My struggles
My emotions
My happiness
My choice in clothing
My singing abilities
My voice
My looks
My logic
Me.

When was the last time
You appreciated me?
When was the last time
That we shared a smile?
When was the last time
That the word "brother"
Did not shake my heart with fear?
When was the last time
We played together out of mutual desire?
When was the last time
That we rode our bikes together?
When was the last time
That we held hands?
When was the last time
That I knew you?

Before you were depressed, certainly.
Before you sliced my wrist, definitely.
Before you revoked your faith, guaranteed.
Before we attended the same school, of course.
Before you taught me all of the dirty secrets of the world that have forever tainted me.

I did not want to know swearing.
I did not want to know drugs.
I did not want to know abuse.
I did not want to know how to skin a cow.
I did not want to know "adult cartoons".
I did not want to know crude humor.
I did not want to know metal.
I did not want to know familial issues.
I did not want to know loneliness.

But you showed it all to me anyways.

You opened me eyes to the world,
And I saw it covered in darkness.

Then you spent the moments that I look at it in horror
To whisper with malice in my ear
That what I see
Is my fault
And my fault only.

So is it?
I'm asking you, brother.
As someone who apparently knows the world better than I
As someone who has lived on this planet for 2 years longer
As someone who believes that they know all the right answers
As someone who constantly says that I'm wrong...

What fault in the world should I call my own?
What part of your life have I impacted so greatly that I am to take blame for it all?
Why do you go out of your way to harm me?
What about myself do you find so much enjoyment in torturing?
Are you sadistic?
Am I a masochist for staying in contact with you?

It all hurts too much
And I fear for far too long.
Am I past mending?

You were first word, brother.
I fear you will be my last.