She hated herself.
Her friends all told her how beautiful and talented and wonderful she was,
And she said thanks,
Mirrors rising behind her eyes so they only saw what they wanted to,
Not the poisonous
Self-loathing boiling beneath the skin
She sliced open in secret, in bedrooms and bathrooms,
To let out her fear.
Her darkness was so close to the surface if
If it was a snake it would have bitten them,
The way the razor blades bit into soft hips the she thought were too ugly
And into her tongue, to stop her from
Spilling all her painful truths.
Open-handed words ***** slapping hitting her head
Against the wall of her daddy's office
She hid that mental bruise with fake smiles for weeks as it faded,
Like her scars faded to be replaced with new ones,
Like her heart faded until she was just going through the motions.
If someone had bothered to research the skeletons in her closet
Maybe her mother's scream wouldn't have ripped through an octave and a half in shock when she found her daughter
Hanging like a forgotten Halloween decoration in the back bedroom.
She left a hole in her sister's heart the size of her smile and
Her grandfather couldn't talk except to mutter "What a waste!" and
She broke her best friend down to dust, not knowing that he cried his strength away at her funeral and his tears fell on her casket.
The air in the church is full of echoed voices, hushed
"She was beautiful"
"I loved her"
"Why?"
Maybe if the voices had never believed her lies,
She would still be alive.

my mind is a wasteland of negative thoughts
self-pity, resentment, and fear-- they bury themselves
deep in my mind slowly decomposing, but sometimes are
reborn when I feed them

I would be consumed by dark self destructive thoughts
that would eat me away from the inside, if it was not for my heart sorting and purifying my negative thoughts into good intentions that grow into thoughtful actions to help others

I always thought I could think my way out from the hell I created, but what really freed me is allowing my heart to sing

I needed the help of others who survived their own wastelands
to believe my song was worth singing, their voices carried me
until I found my own melody bubbling inside of me

my heart sings to remember not to loose hope, and reach out to others

Years disappear
under shifting dunes
of days and endless nights.
A quiet cloaks
the ticking house
as summer falls
slowly on the crystal coast.
Evening tide is running out.
Days get shorter by the day;
moonrise comes early
above the straight blue line.

Through the faded curtain
a lone ship far out to sea,
a gull floating on a breeze,
driftwood on the shore.
A young boy casts his net
and pulls it back once more.
Catching memories
discarded in the sand;
another dune is born.
He turns his back upon the ship
and wanders home.

r ~ 8/5/14

Sometimes i wish i was a silkworm
so that i could weave something beautiful
out of nothingness
and wrap myself up when i feel lonely
or scared.
Sometimes i want
oh so badly
to feel a lover's hand in my hair
just give me a sign
two tugs so i know you're there
i just want to make sure.
I am like a silkworm
because the thread i hang from
is so fine and fragile
but when woven together with more
we are strong.
I'm so scared that without you
I'll snap
I'll fall.
Hell, maybe i'll even cut myself down
and just walk away
unscathed.
unscathed?
i think not.
life is far too ******* us
to leave anyone unscathed.
from the moment we emerge into this world
the weight starts to set in
that's why babies cry so **** much
that's why i used to care so much
but what's the use.
once everything's gone to ****
you might as well enjoy
dangling
and watching the chaos ensue.
we are all ruined
we are all so broken
and ******
and that what makes it nice.
we are all ruined together
we've woven a fine tapestry of disaster
we spin destruction.
the destruction of innocence
the destruction of silence
the destruction of perfectly good bonfires
but that's what makes it nice.
We weave a web of bad choices
we like to pretend that we are spiders
we like to pretend that they're afraid of us.
but they still hold on to the illusion of calm
they think they can control us
conform us
or destroy us
and we play along because it's easiest that way
they can see us
and they are seeing a lie
because we are too cowardly to show them the inside
to spill our guts in the name of honesty
and confess our sins
to cut our silkworm threads
and trade our saturday nights
for shackles
because we are tangled up
in a spider web of lies
but it's nice
and i like feeling invisible sometimes
it helps ease your worries
if no one can place the blame
because it's not easy to find
someone so perfectly wrapped up
in a silkworm thread cocoon:
the only thing that holds me together.
i'm happy to be falling apart
i'm so happy to be dangling.
But sometimes i need you to give me a sign
two tugs on my silkworm thread
to let me know you're here
and i'll cut myself down
so beautifully ruined.

I'd like to retravel
The road to here
Straighten out a few curves
Undo some straight lines
Unmuddle some puddles
Shake the mud out of my eyes
Take more time to explore
Those missed detours

The road to here
Has been a long one
Sometimes walked
Sometimes on the run
Sometimes rocky, often dusty
And sometimes fun
But never did I ever
Leave a deed undone

I traveled it in the rain
I traveled it in the sun
Ups and downs and switchbacks
There's no going back again
Can't be redone
Miles and miles and miles
Of tears and smiles and love
The road to here.

r ~ 8/2/14

Buddhists say that each breath brings us closer to death
the saying is not a morbid desire for death, but a reminder to wake up now

I know the big sleep is coming, and some days knowing I will die motivates me to be fully present to today, but somedays the knowledge I will die makes me want to withdraw and do nothing

I don't want to run from death, or embrace death to run from life