Thin Veneer

You speak to me, but your words prove you are deaf to what I say, to what I feel.

You speak about me, but your words prove you don’t know me and only say what makes you feel best.

You speak as if I cannot hear, as if I do not remember all the words that you have used before.

More importantly you speak as if your actions have not spoken louder than your words.

As if you have not already proven to me that you are deaf to my pain and my hopes.

As if you had not savaged the frayed ties that are barely holding us together yet again.

As if you had not shown me who you truly are beneath the veneer you wear for others.

Even if you play at something else, I have seen what lies beneath. I will not forget. I cannot forget.

House of Ivy, Garden in Bloom

How many seeds have others planted in my unwilling mind and body? Seeds of doubt, fear, pain, anger, and endless insecurities.

They grow like ivy, until it feels like I am consumed by them. Every inch covered in a deceptively beautiful but choking shroud of greenery.

But what of the others planted willingly and sometimes unknowingly? The seeds of laughter, love, safety, and small kindnesses.

Buried beneath the ivy, waiting to bloom in full vivid color. Until my mind and body is not a shroud of clinging ivy, but an ever changing garden that welcomes my soul and those I love with joyous abandon.

Until the vines are not suffocating or bleeding me dry. But breathing new life and passion into each day. Ivy will always remain in my garden, I cannot undo all that has been done or what will come.

But I will continue learning to no longer build a house from it. Rather tend the seeds in my garden that create more freedom and happiness. That lessen each breaths pressure and give way to peace and joy.

Beauty & Legends

When the brightness of day gives way to a luminous night, the moons rays fall across her weary face.

She is at once the Maiden, Mother, and Crone of the old tales. Shining with an inner radiance you can see rippling across the surface of her skin.

As the worries of the day fade, the laugh lines around her eyes come out to play. The moon rises ever higher above her as she tosses her head back.

It’s light shines fully over her face and down her neck covering her body as she screams like a banshee of legends gone by, fully embracing her whole self.

In that one perfect moment, all else is forgotten except the oneness of moon and female brought together by the darkness of night and that which resides in her.

Her fury and wisdom are given free reign, not even the soreness of her throat or the tears on her reddened cheeks can disturb the peace found in the moons caress.

Maiden, Mother and Crone, a banshee of legend, she is everything you think she is not and nothing like you think she is.

She does not ask your permission for the space she inhabits. Only that you do not unwisely stray onto her path, less she takes herself from the peace of the moon and gives you the fire of the sun.

 

You are Not Welcome Here

You are not welcome here. With your hands like thorns.
With your arms like entrapping vines.
You are not welcome here.
With your mouth of poison.
With your words of despair.
You are not welcome here.
With your hands that shred.
With your arms that take.
You are not welcome here.
With your mouth of hate.
With your words of false love.
Go from this place, my body, my temple.
I will burn the memory of you to ashes when I rise from this misplaced self loathing.
Go from this place, my mind, my thoughts.
I will no longer give you the space you do not deserve, I will learn anew what joy is.
You are not welcome here in this moment or in my future.
You must go from this place and never return.

Life’s Battles

Girls start out soft and sweet they say, quiet and delicate. But what if they came into the world as they meant to go on?

Screaming at the top of their lungs. Ready for any battle that may come their way. For the battles will come. And some part of them, even at birth knows this.

Boys start out stoic and happy they say, extroverted and sturdy. But what if they came into the world as they meant to go on?

Screaming at the top of their lungs. Ready for any battle that may come their way. For the battles will come. And some part of them, even at birth knows this.

What if we all started out as we meant to go on? Not in a box or as an idea. But just as ourselves. Screaming each day at the top of our lungs.

Our hearts filled with the madness and pain of living. But also, the joyfulness and laughter of life. We cannot fully experience one without the other.

For in madness and pain we find what truly brings us joy and laughter at our darkest moments. And if not for the joy and laughter we wouldn’t know what caused the madness and pain in us.

Life is a balance that only you can find for yourself. Start out as you mean to go on. Not in a mask or a cage of others perception. But screaming at the top of your lungs, in laughter, in madness, in joyfulness and pain.

Around the Edges

You could see it, around the edges I mean. 

The never-ending grief. 

The brokenness that couldn’t be repaired.

The heartache that just never went away. 

Sometimes an odd look would cross over their face. 

 

Totally blank, but somehow it made you uncomfortable just seeing it. The glazed eyes, the tight mouth, the stress lines more pronounced. You had to wonder at how deep it went. 

 

Then like the sun from behind a cloud they were back. Maybe you only imagined it after all. Look at how happy they appeared. It puzzled you because you didn’t know what caused it. 

 

Ah! There it was at the eyes again. Just a slip, a small dip in their smile and an untrue pitch to their laugh. No, it wasn’t your imagination. Oh, but darling, if only they knew. The darkness was inside of you too.

Illogical Logic

Does a moat surrounding the castle make it any less decimated from the attacks you launched?

Does a lock on the gate with a sleeping guard make it any more difficult for you to climb the walls?

Does a security system with a code everybody knows how to break make it any more secure than it was before?

Does a battlefield littered with remains of those who fought look any different than the inside of a broken mind?

Does the idea of mental health as a joke, tall tale, or lie make you more comfortable with the words and actions that spew forth from such an ignorant heart?

No.

No.

No.

No.

Yes…

Once Upon A Time…Part I

Once upon a time there was a fairytale based in truth, from lessons learned, shared with the world in sugarcoated bliss.

Once upon a time the reality of life was too harsh for minds and hearts to hear, so a story was woven like a web, around to painful an event.

Once upon a time the story spread like a childhood game of telephone, each person that repeated it making it shine a little brighter than before.

Once upon a time the lesson meant to be learned in this tale of woe was long forgotten until only those who’d lived it remembered the tale as it was.

Once upon a time the only hearts filled with pain were those that had lived the tragedies glossed over in the fairytales read to the children at night.

For reality is lived by us all, knowingly or not, and some burdens are to difficult to bear without a little sparkle woven in, and if the shimmer came from tears shed late into the night…

Who should know when mornings light fell, upon all who are seemingly happy as can be? With bright smiles and at times dark hearts, we all live in our fairytales to numb the bitter bite of pain.

An Arrow

An arrow is still an arrow, no matter what it’s tipped with at its start. Sugar or poison? What’s the difference…they will both kill you in the end once they find their mark, released from the bow of a skilled, yet terrible archer. 

 

An arrow wrapped with sugar will cause an even slower death than that of its poison brother. Will still tear through your limbs and organs, rip apart your foundation until you are a bloody, sobbing mess on the floor. Harder to escape from its pain, because of the illusion of love it once gave you. 

 

An arrow doused in poison will cause a quick death of the mind, but the heart is slower to catch up, the blood moving sluggishly through your veins even as your mind frantically tells you to react. Causing you to lay in agony, fearful of each day despite the power inside you. There is no illusion of love here, only control. 

 

Give me neither sugar or poison from your damaged fingers and bitter mouth. Give me no illusion of love and adoration. Give me no marks or twisted deeds of your supposed control. Give me nothing of yourself, let me remain as I am. Broken but still standing. Dressed for the battle of another day, another night…

 

I do not long for your arrows of deceit. I long for your truth. Do you remember what that is for yourself? Give me the truest parts of your body, mind, and soul. I will bare the same to you. You needn’t rip me apart to succeed, I don’t need you to be whole again. I only need you to be capable of standing in both my light and shadows. 

 

For you to witness what the sugar and poison tipped arrows of before have carved in me and to understand. I would be yours if you asked it. But I will always be mine. I will always know the truth even if I cannot give it voice. I will not cower from this tragic state. I will embrace the life I am meant to live. 

Everything or Nothing

If I’ve said ten thousand words to you, there’s a million more I’ve withheld, quieting myself because I am bursting with words I can barely make sense of on my own.

They dance on the tip of my tongue, playing across my lips before my lungs suck the air back in and I let them go with a flick of my tongue across my lower lip.

At times biting until there is a metallic taste down to my soul. It brings me back to myself and I let it go. A small pain to save future misery.

My dark edges are difficult to understand, but we all have jagged souls from the people and things that have brought us to this point in our lives.

It’s only a question of how well your demons play with mine. And how well my demons accept your flaws for what they are. The sins of another are not yours to bear. But bear it you must when the time calls for it.

The past is not so easily forgotten and I have withheld a million words so that you better understand. I will not be a stepping stone, I will be forever or I will be a memory.

Give me everything or I am nothing to you. Give me your dark edges, your demons and I will find the light that is meant to be mine. In return I will give you all that I am or all that you can stand to hold of me.