Between life and death

again and again on my knees

broken by those who should help me stand

not sad nor happy in this life

forgotten

 

fallen

 

and getting up

again

again and again

every time

after every fall

more determined to keep standing

more desperate to avoid another

fall

 

depression doesn´t hurt

it´s beyond limits of sadness

beyond any other feeling known by mam

 

why?

being alive is too hard

there are easier ways around

 

why to stand up after fall?

 

standing

stubbornly holding on worthless things

patiently crying when no one hears

broken pieces glued together

by what?

 

life

 

effort testing limits of strength

buying time to find more will

forgetting to smile

what did it feel like

for the last time?

 

and again

 

falling

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Anxiety

There is a freight train inside my ribcage
And it pounds at the walls
Shredding my dignity to pieces
This anxiety is scratching the chalk boards
Peeling away at the rooftops
It never leaves me alone
I am left with spider webs on my tongue
One bullet for one mind
A one way ticket to the unknown
Tonight I pray to a God I don’t know I believe in
For some type of relief
To help my soul from melting.

Self oppression

once, i dreamed

everyone was bound by

invisible chains.

no one could see them but i.

some were bound by doubt;

others, anxiety; still others, fear.

the chains wrapped around the soul, then extended

and dragged

on the ground.

(though i did notice that some were unchained –

they were very few, and tended to create things.

there was fire in their eyes.)

even invisible chains make noise

(or so i thought – everyone either couldn’t hear them or pretended

not to).

the chains dragged and clanked

making the most terrible racket

and the noise was deafening –

then i awoke to find

it was never really a dream

at all.

Naked and stripped bare to my organs.

There is nothing I can say, safely.there are changes and motions and stillness

that have left me naked and stripped to my bare organs;

the heart being the evident one.

what can I do now with this?

dress myself up? 

keep all hope down?

there is no home yet. no place, no heartbeat, no whisper.

I have buried this many times,

it resurfaces as if it was a gore tale.

It comes out, almost shining its light

to face my own little darkness.

I hate that I love. 

yet I live because of it.

I re-member, and arrange and continue,

awake, barely.

trying to weigh my feet down I find myself,

after all these years.

No more an angel I wish to be;

but I still wonder, I still look at the sky.

You know? I still write, how ironic.

I still am who I was, 

but less. much less. 

and with it I have not become more.

I use the word I still. 

(is it even considered a word?)

I battle my thoughts with your logic.

I silence my own naive narrative,

because,

well,

who knows why I am even allowing it.

I question my intention every step of every way,

even though I have no way.

Lost as it were, moving slowly,

in rhythm with the desire of not wanting more distance.

I died. I did die.

Just like love I still try to resurface.

Every so often I smile. bot not for long.

not an adult smile.

because there is no real reason to.

not with a broken heart. 

a heart that should be empty by now. 

but it is full,

of you.

And I carry that weight, that life that never happened.

That night, that day, that phrase, that word, that whisper,

that imagined touch,

I re-live it to live.

I have yet to get sick of it. 

at least as much as it got sick of me.

 

How ?

How do you forget something that’s so integrated into yourself? 

How do you rip the memories from your flesh without bleeding? 

How do I tear out the emotions without killing that small piece of myself?

 I’m burning for an answer, but I always end up with more questions.

No refunds 

take. take. take.

i’ll allow you to burrow holes into me,

if you need a place to feel safe and warm

but remember to give something back.

i don’t want to be left with nothing again.

because i don’t want to be nothing

again.

You’re much stronger than you think 

I’ll be the first to tell you

scissors don’t need to be brought to a wrist

to cut deep

because cutting off your heart from you head,

or yourself from your dreams,

is also enough

to make you bleed

and there’s ink spilled all over these pages,

and at times it seems tears 

are cheaper than water from a spout:

these lines need diluted,

these blots are a dark, dark sea
and maybe I’m not too good at swimming,

even if it’s just through a pool of ink

but I’ve learned if you just keep paddling,
you’re much stronger than you think.

Un

Unplanned.

Unprepared.

Unnoticed.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Unable.

Unaccepted.

Unused.

Unacknowledged.

Unappealing.

Unbeknown…

Un un un.

It seems to make me.

I’m always un.

But it’s these un’s that make me stronger too.

I will become unstoppable,

as the years go on.

And come out unbloodied,

in the fight of life.

I, along with everyone else,

just have to go though some unfortunate things,

before we can unbarricade these walls,

and become open to the world.

We just have to remember,

be unbashful,

unbox our feelings and opinions,

and uncap the inspiration and intelligence,

that I KNOW we all have inside us.
Live on,
and do it proudly.