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The Road-
A poem: by Olivia Williams.
——-
i've run along this road all my life
I've been running away from it all night
I've been hanging on to these handrails that just keep breaking
People keep telling me that no matter what I'm lying
I've been running away from these shackles that hold me prisoner
These thoughts that want to break my mind
My body that feels like its crumbling as time goes on
“I need to hang on”
“I need to stay strong”
I think in my head as I run this road
“But I'm a failure”
“But I'll never be important enough”
They reply back
“You'll never be great”
You'll never be perfect”
They continue as they chuckle
I run as they chase me
All my thoughts mix together
Envy and Sadness
Hope and anger
Hopelessness
It's all there
It is all that held my world accountable
All the times I've been pushed to breaking point
All the times I've been hurt beyond words
All the times I've been left in the dirt
All the times I've been missing the signs
The signs I'm human
The signs I'm a good person
The signs I'm someone worth living for
Everyday i fight
Fight pain, physical and mental  
Fighting has held me strong
Everything inside me
Is fighting
I sing it
It's my song
This is my road
My life
My heart
And I've reached a point where I have to accept myself
No matter what
This roads mine
Through everything
My Suffering and my pain
My joy and my shame
it's on this road
That I've been running from
I've been running from my feelings
They have tried to hold me hostage
This devil of dark
This red-eyed monster
The past is behind me
I'm starting new
This year is my year
I'll make sure of it to
I need all the help i can get
To change my ways
To help me move away from the past
I need to move past it
I call all family and friends
All teachers and others
All my supporters
I need people to help me
I need people to join my road
So…
Will you join me?
I WATCH
A Poem- TW -HEALTH ISSUES-
—————
I watch myself
From across the room.
My heart beats fast.
My brain spins.
My body feels
Like it’s tingling,
Like it’s truly not there.
I watch myself
Do things that aren’t me.
My hand moves
As if I turned an unknown key.
My mouth speaks words
I sometimes don’t know.
I constantly feel like I’m in a hazy fog,
In a world of the unknown.
I feel dizzy,
And suddenly, time stops.
I try to move,
But nothing works.
I try to make eye contact,
But my vision is blurred.
People’s words drown out,
The world goes silent.
I feel unheard.
Then everything comes rushing back,
Like bubbles coming to the surface.
I continue with what was said before,
Not realizing everyone’s staring at me weird.
I’m confused, but they don’t say a thing,
And I continue as normal,
Not sure what happened.
I have panic attacks.
After each one,
I feel like my body is going to explode.
My head pounds hard.
My heart beats fast.
My body shakes uncontrollably.
It always seems to last.
I still don’t feel okay,
But it’s an everyday thing.
I feel out of my body,
Like a ghost turned to dust,
Like I’m watching myself perform tasks
That I’m pretty sure I’m not.
Many times,
I feel as if I’m out of my body,
Or like I’m spacing out
And losing my memory.
I’m unsure of why,
But my body feels like a crumbling brick wall
That gets built up and knocked down.
It’s wall after wall,
Never that strong.
I still watch,
I still wait,
As my vision dims again,
And words are incoherent,
Like I’m drowned out by the noise of a freight train.
I scream in silence,
As my body falls asleep.
My eyes feel like rocks,
Sinking to the bottom of a sandy reef.
I will always watch,
And watch,
As time goes on.
I’m glad my friends understand,
But I’m contemplating
If something is wrong.
And yet, I will
Watch.
The Attack- TW- HEALTH ISSUES-
A poem by Olivia Williams
—————————
That Thursday,
my legs met the floor.
A thump echoed in the elevator—
I couldn’t stand, any longer.
I barely remember.
One moment, I felt like I was going to pass out.
The next—
the floor met my exhausted body,
as my feet succumbed to gravity,
like a rock sinking into deep water.
My arms went limp.
My body went numb.
My brain felt like it was colliding into a wall—
or like someone was banging on it
like a drum.
Like strings were cut,
nerves were severed,
the ones that told my body:
"Work, or you're a coward!"
Everything from my neck down
forgot who was in control.
My body forgot who it was connected to—
it had a mind of its own.
I have reflux
Anemia too
I get attacks frequently
They literally knock me down
So DONT play me for a fool
My fingers felt cold,
turning to frost.
My lips were chapped and dry,
a crevasse so deep,
I couldn’t deny.
I was a ghost slowly lying there—
until a chair came.
Sight slipped away
as I was wheeled the other way.
First blurry—then gone.
My hearing too.
Like a blackout curtain appeared,
and I couldn’t tell who was who.
These voices I recognized—warped,
like they were underwater.
My breath was a battle.
My lungs begged for air,
but it refused to enter.
And the air I had
escaped faster than I could hold it.
Like a hammer on a locked door—
sealed shut—
I couldn’t get out
of the cave I was in.
Water was filling my body.
I lost all sense of time
inside that darkness.
They asked me,
“Stay awake.”
But I wasn’t there.
I couldn’t hear—see—or reply.
All of that
had been stripped from me there.
I entered the office,
heard— the concerned voices,
the mumbles saying:
“You need to take care of yourself.”
“You need to eat.”
“But I throw it all up,” I say.
“So my body makes it to this point.”
The lights were too bright,
filling my grey void.
Then—
everything came back.
I heard my own voice.
Then a voice I recognized entered the room.
She looked at me and asked questions,
but she knew
I couldn’t speak yet.
Because my body felt like
I was swimming through glue.
I was on the edge of fainting,
on the edge of life.
Food and water made a thump beside me.
I fumbled it open—
took one bite,
then another,
and another—
waiting for my body to recharge.
Like a dead battery.
I don’t remember what it was.
It didn’t taste good—
but I didn’t care.
I just ate, and hoped
my body would spare.
I cried,
knowing my body had failed me
in front of everyone.
Not from pain.
There was no scream,
no giant collapse—
just a person
sliding to the ground
in an elevator,
trying to get help
before fading away.
This isn’t weakness.
Or drama.
This is war,
with no warning.
This is fighting
with no rules.
I fight for life every day.
I’m told,
“You don’t have much on your plate.”
But surviving is my chore.
Life is a game.
I played the wrong cards.
I forgot to eat and drink—
because my body forgot to tell me how.
It made me ***** it back.
So this is what I get.
This is surviving
in silence,
day by day,
hour by hour.
This is an attack.
(CONTENT WARNING!!!- BLOOD, VIOLENCE, DEATH, SENSITIVE TOPICS- ONLY FOR MATURE AUDIENCES)

MY BATTLEGROUND
A Poem, By Olivia Williams
Nights draw long.
The clock ticks slow.
So slow, the seconds snap thin like rubber bands.
Each snap feels like a weight of remembrance; eventually, it has started to take a toll.
While each minute drags like forever eternity,
As if eternity is even bothered by the pain.
My heart beats fast,
As visions grow.
The pain inclines.
Then the shadow man comes, and will never seem to go,
Drenched in blood,
Hollow eyes staring everywhere.
The tint of vengeance,
Of revenge,
Of horror.
The night,
His shadow,
Long and stretched,
Like a long blood-filled river,
This fate
That led me
ALMOST TO DEATH.
That night,
The man,
His cold presence
Turning me away,
Metallic smell
And taste
Filling my body,
Making me gag
In fear.
His eyes,
Still blood red,
That chase with a ****** knife,
Coated in others' mess,
Of others, he's ruined.
I think he’s…
Looking for me next,
As he pierces the knife
One by one.
The silence
Envelopes me,
The guilt,
Of chains,
Cold metal against bruised skin,
Clinking, against a solid white-concrete wall,
Locked in all white, nothing left for me to have.
Smell of must and smoke.
Chains of shame,
For trying to speak out but failed.
When I should have kept quiet,
So I'm not a burden,
Even though
I could have survived if I spoke.
I still want to scream,
But I'm caught in a web of…
“I should have spoken.”
“I should have stopped it.”
“I could have fixed this.”
“I could have protected myself.”
“Now I'm hurting the people I love….”
Yet I'm being pulled down by
Each outspoken recommendation,
Like I'm stuck in quicksand
With no escape.
Yet again,
He mocks,
Shames,
Yells,
Blames,
And buckles
Restraints.
I'm stuck
In these chains.
They hold me down…
Too well.
And they rattle and shake,
Bringing not only pain
But a reminder
Of the freedom
Never felt.
The rocks
He heaves
Onto my shoulders.
Never free.
The struggle
Of guilt.
I didn't fight back
When I should have.
Maybe I wouldn't
Have to deal with the
Internal pain now.
The weight,
I fall
As I'm tripped.
I call
In fear,
Thinking I'm about to be hit.
I yell,
Trying to get revenge.
The pain
Had taken control with guilt
Of sharing these thoughts.
“Am I… to blame?”
My friends,
They help
And sometimes
Distract,
But never for long,
As they disappear
On their path.
It's not fair,
I swear,
I fight,
But cry.
I punch,
I will try.
“NO!” he yells
And kicks me away.
I guess I'll never grow my wings and fly away.
I can only dream
Of a gorgeous escape.
The man,
His blood,
That taint
And taste
Will pull me back
To this loop of pain,
From this ****** nightmare.
I'm drowning
In my thoughts,
The whirl
Of a storm brewing,
Out of control.
Pain is like waves
Stabbing into the rocky shore
Where boats of hope crash
And are pummeled apart.
Wooden remains, on a decaying beach
Sand no longer there, trees laying face-down
Past repair.
The voices of survivors echo,
Asking for help,
But the wounds are so deep,
Gashes gaping and flowing,
A deep crimson and rose-red
Fill the once vibrant water.
The blood—
That's so thick,
I never hear their cries,
As their boats sink too,
And their lifeless bodies take the last dive into the waves before smashing into the rocky shore.
And the empty silence fills my mind of memories that I don't want to re-live.
But the blood covering this sea of people—and me,
Is taking control.
My breath feels heavy,
As if water and blood were pulling me down.
The flashbacks,
The fear that wraps and claws further and further to my throat,
Tightening with every vision that comes to light.
Will I ever get out?
I yell,
But all he does is laugh and say,
“NO!!!”
This blood,
The stain,
Both in life,
Forever
Engrained
In my memory,
Like a cracked mirror, broken pieces.
Glass in my feet,
Each shard, each bit
Representing broken hopes and thousands of mistakes I wish I could undo.
Of that fate
I was left
When no one has listened.
I tried to tell them,
But they all denied
The evidence,
Right there.
Especially those bruises.
The pain of laying there,
My own blood
Passing out,
Waking up,
No one caring that I was there,
No one noticing, that I needed help,
And that this has become my life because of this all.
With constant
24/7 battle
Of that knife,
That chase,
My blood,
The screams
Of others he chases.
A mix between THAT day and dream.
My battleground,
My life,
Has become a gruesome fight.
I don't know when the knife man will take me,
But on the battleground,
Trying to protect,
That is where I'll fall.
On the battleground,
For sure,
Is where
If anything,
I've lived through it all.
No matter what,
I will always fall,
But through it all,
I will always breathe.
Even if it's a struggle,
NEVER a relief.
I wish I could defy,
But for now, I will…
Try to fight
For my life
On this battleground,
With blood and mistakes,
That's just open
To take.
But even in the darkness,
That always holds when I'm suffocated
With rooms so dimly lit that just a flicker is left.
That flicker of hope is all that's left to hold everything back,
The darkness claws and grabs
At every chance to reach me, I hold on tight.
Even if so,
I will continue to breathe.
My breath will never stop,
EVER.
And at all.
When I return back,
My mind says “It's all a dream,”
But it happened, I have scars and damage for proof… and I know I'm just getting flashbacks
Because of THAT day, I hope one day I won't have to look the man in his eyes,
But for now… all I can do is… FIGHT.
God- a poem
P2
(NOTE: TOPIC BASED OFF RELIGION)
——————
I’m sick of people telling me that god “Exists”
He’s an idiot for thinking I’d love him
He didn’t save me then
He never gave me a sign
He never ONCE
Said anything
I don’t want to die
That’s not what I’m getting too
I’m getting to the point
That when I was in danger
When I needed god
You weren’t there
You never saw what I did
Nobody understands
I don’t like god
He comes up with all this crap
Just to make people believe
He’s the “Worthy” one
He’s stupid
He’s dumb
He’s an idiot
For thinking
I’ll ever love him enough
People need to wrap there minds around the fact I’ll never accept
Him as any religion
Especially when Ive grilled that Im an atheist
Always
I’ll think this
It’s not just that he didn’t save me
He never came when I was healing
He came up with the stupid “bible”
Just to spread his words
It seems dumb
And it’s all fake
Just to make people love him
I'M AN ATHEIST
AND
I DON'T WANT TO DIE
Someone please understand
The reason why!
GOD-
A POEM

(NOTE: TOPIC BASED OFF RELIGION)

——————
You ruined my life
I called you my savior
You didn’t help me when I needed it
You could’ve saved me but you didn’t
I was hurt
You ignored me
I was crying
You never saved me
You didn’t give me a sign you were there
You never helped me
You left me in despair
I hate you god
You left me on this path to die
You ignored my screams and cries
You left me in the dust
Smoke filling my eyes
Now Im blind to kindness
I almost didn’t survive
I’m not going to heaven
And I don’t care about hell
You are an idiot for thinking you are better than them all
You ruined my life
Yeah
That’s for sure
You ruined my life
You left me for dead
You didn’t save me when I needed you
You hurt me in strife
You never gave me a sign
It’s all your fault
You didn’t give them consequences  
You never gave me revenge
I can’t believe
You left me for dead
It’s all your fault god
Thanks for nothing
You ruined my life
Thanks..
For leaving
Me in strife
Because
I've found myself
Ive build myself back up
When you let them break me down
Now I hate you
So
I don’t thank you
God
The Irony of My Savior
by Olivia

(NOTE: TOPIC BASED OFF RELIGION)

————
They told me
there was a man
who once helped those who were hurt,
who “loved me” more
than anyone on the globe,
who changed life for the “better.”
But those nights spent in bed,
thinking about those nights spent
with others of the faith telling me,
“He heard your cries.”
“He listens to your prayers…”
“…He cleans your mind…”
“…Holds your hands…”
“…And loves you more than the world!”
My lifeline, that was supposed to
“Keep me alive,”
WENT DEAD.
My bruised and battered body
on a hard-tile floor,
blood covering me like how
“Jesus died for us on the cross.”
Going home all covered,
saying everything “was fine,”
going to church over the next month,
showing my pain
in a room full of promises and bandages
that fixed a LITTLE,
but through it all,
He never came.
If I was “chosen,”
if this was my “path,”
my “road,” my “story,”
that I had suffered for a reason,
that everything was on a blueprinted paper
like a plan for my life,
then where was HE to make corrections
when HE SAW HE took it too far
and didn’t do something right?
They all decorate the church with the “holy face”
and Bible verses,
pray that things will turn right,
because it’s easier than admitting
that what He SUPPOSEDLY DID wasn’t right.
They don’t know how to help me.
The doctors can’t either.
I’M NOT doing this for attention.
I used to, because that’s how I got noticed when I was hurt.
YES, I might have taken it too far,
but THAT day will never end.
IT ISN’T A DREAM.
PEOPLE CAN BE THAT CRUEL.
DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME “INSANE.”
They watch me bleed out
while handing empty and broken promises and prayers.
When ALL I NEEDED was someone to notice
when I had DIED that day on that hard tile floor.
I never saw Him, not then, not now.
That’s why I don’t believe HE exists.
I prayed so hard,
in my darkest times,
but He ceased to exist.
I built my own life up
from what was left of my battered, ****** body,
crimson-red blood.
The metallic taste and smell I’ll NEVER forget,
it’s still with me.
But I’ve found my home, found my place.
The irony of my “savior”
was the fact He came for His supposed “people” and “world,”
but He didn’t come for me.
I can cradle my hurt,
but He will never help.
He lost His chance,
and now I’m finding MY OWN
path,
MY OWN
LIFE,
MY OWN
story.
I’M CLAIMING THIS.
IT’S MY LIFE.
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