“I have learned the art of biting my tongue, and spilling the lies I have been told. The darkness swallows me in the light of day, mid conversation and nobody notices. I stare into my own blank and dry eyes, daring them to cry atleast. They say “you have Nothing to allow for this behavior”. I want to scream it is not behavior, it’s my life or the life I don’t want. I stand on the edge, ready to leap and let the darkness in… But my heart is holding onto some unsaid words of a promise to someone I would never see, if I don’t hold out for the light to take me.” #theDarknessCallsmeHerOwn #Ineedtobetaken #theLightistoofar #icantwaitthatlong
Making yourself invisible doesn’t really count as being invisible, right?
Well, I wouldn’t know the difference even if I tried.
Which I did, a lot.
I made myself visible.
And then I’d hide away so that nobody could see me.
Probably psychotic, but who knows.
I blame the Gemini.
I write, I want the words to swallow me.
I want the pages to be my covers.
I want to be hidden from the world…but I want to bleed into these pages and tell the world..
“Look, I’m hiding in here”
Psychotic, I say again, but who knows.
I’ve told my story, to dozens, or to less, it all really depends on if they’re really listening.
And I’m a rambler, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the only one who knows, all these different stories, and the only one who will ever know them.
So, I wave my “be my friend” banner, and hide when they come.
I don’t usually write the word into my writings, because I just take the word and stick it to whichever writing I feel, fits it’s profile.
I have been looking into the career of transcribing.
And as clear as light…
I’m certainly not the best storyteller.
But give me a story and I can easily rewrite it to take out the points I feel are not fitting and glam up the ones I feel are good but need to be excellent.
You see, it would be wise for you to exit now, before you get lost in the rambling.
My poor friends, don’t get that option once my tunnel opens.
Anyway so transcript, is one of the the words that comes with the job per say.
Having the urge to write, but never being able to, because as soon as you write the first word, sentence the rest dissapears.
Go to bed way before the sleep has come.
Lying in bed tossing and turning because it’s not me I want to change.. it’s the world
Dreaming of world better than this one.
I walk arms wrapped around my body afraid I’d provoke someone by just being me.
This world was always the freedom my soul yearned for but through the eyes of trapped child…
Falling leaves are just as pretty as blooming flowers.
I hated my view of this world because it made me yearn for the darkness and it made me hate everything that kept the light on.
Imbedded, yes… It is a part of you but it hurts you so much you have to scratch at it… But it never really goes away.
I’m still pretending that one day this will all be alright, whilst I scratch at my love corns..
One day I would be able to rid myself of it or accept it for what it is.
Wildling eyes, she had…
They were fierce with power, and coated with fear.
Broken and dirty finger nails, the hands of a fighter, they said.
Removing her clothes, piece by piece, the marks of her identity are telling her story better than she would have.
Cut open and sewn together by unpracticed hands.
Broken from the inside out, without ever hearing the words, “Here let me help you”
She grew up broken, and learned to walk up right, with limbs barely straight enough to carry the weight.
Her world does not smell of roses and Sunday afternoon lemonade.
No, she knows the smells of dirty dogs and filthy alleys.
She was used and abused for just being born into the skin she was in.
But if you look closely, you’d see…
She forgave everything, everyone and she knew once this life was over the better one will be what she never even dreamt of.
She had faith, she believed.
“When he touched her…
Her soul exploded and the world around them turned to colors he has not seen before.
She apologized, he just smiled and held on tighter…
‘Don’t apologize, did you think I came here to caress an untouched soul’
Just like that her world became his.”
I hear your cries to be free…
To be what you always wished to be.
Trapped by obligations of the world you pursued in the moment.
I see you fight the battles, I gave up long ago.
I know you want to cut your shackles and leap forward straight out of what’s keeping you here.
I feel the tightness around your heart.
The suffocation of being what you’re not.
Every breath you take makes you believe it’s the last because the last would end this torture.
I have not been foolish enough to believe life ends because we want it to end.
I however foolishly believe that when all you’ve wanted was for life to end, it is the moment when you find life worth living for…
That it indeed will end.
In the worst moments of my life, I’ve wished for the end.
In the most quiet nights I have remembered these moments.
And every time, a single word can flood my insides with regrets… Even in the loudest moments.
You have not yet hurt until you’ve hurt because you hate yourself.
I sat in my gown, in front of the fireplace, watching episodes, I’ve already seen…
And my mind just, walked away to some other part of my life.
I sat there and thought to myself, “why are you so damn mad?”
Angry. Pissed off. Crazy.
It ruins you.
It suffocates you.
It is literally killing you.