Hiding in the bathroom so your little brother doesn’t see you crying,

Locking yourself in your room because you don’t want to talk to anyone,

Bottling everything up because you don’t trust anyone.

Fear of being judged,

Fear of opening up and being dismissed as if your feelings don’t mean anything,

Fear of feeling like you don’t matter.

You choose to be alone

Because you are tired of getting hurt,

Tired of being disappointed

By your family, friends, and others.

But a small part of you wants someone to hold your hand,

To hold you in their arms

And tell you everything is going to be okay.

But you isolate yourself either way,

Because the pain of being disappointed again,

Hurt again,

Would be too unbearable.

#alone #list #poem #poetry #loneliness #pain #hurt #disappointment #feelings

Do you remember when you were four years old,

When you didn't care about how your body looked.

When you didn't know how it should look.

You didn't care about what you ate or what you weighed.

You didn't even know what perfection was.

You were just purely you.

Who even told you what flaws were?

Who told you what was beautiful,

And what was not?

Who had the audacity to ruin your perfect self image.

And start a world of impossible standards.

Who created the demon inside of you?

The demon that has now taken over your life.

The one that made you care more about the number on the scale,

Or the blemish on your face,

Then your self worth.

The demon screaming inside of you,

Hammering in the message that you will never be loved,

Not unless you meet an impossible list of "perfection".

A list filled with thigh gaps, tiny waists, big eyes and perfect skin.

A list that will tear you apart.

The demon hollows out your insides,

Taking away any joy you had left in your body,

Until there is nothing.

Creating an abyss that will never be filled.

It makes it so all you can think about is everything you are not.

You'd rather starve than eat.

You would rather cut your arms,

Than look at yourself in a mirror.

The demon will not stop until you hate yourself.

Until you loathe your very existence,

And cry yourself to sleep.

It will keep on growing and growing,

until you fade away to nothingness.

You have to take away its power.

Look away from that magazine,

And step away from that scale.

Stop thinking about what your not,

And embrace who you are.

Stop caring about a space between your thighs,

Or a timepiece like figure.

And start caring about you.

Your body is your only home.

Stop treating it like its broken,

Or messy.

Stop trying to clean and fix your already perfect house.

The only one who can kill the demon

Is you.

I gave myself to the world.

Cafés, trains, streets

and me.

Strangers give the best love.

Practical. Magical.

Unknown eyes and discreet smiles

A flirty secret pulling her skirt up

- no touch.

Coffee, cigarettes, the people

and me.

My head tilts back in ecstasy, neck tickled with kisses. Kisses pressed by the chatter.

The words a mess of whos whys whens.

what what what? a controversy.

Society and me - fucking tragic lovers.

Don't bother me with commitment.

A day that someone named thousand years ago

A day for "romance, love and gifts"

But why one day in the year?

If we love someone

Why we have to wait untill this day

To show our feelings or to send gifts

If you really love someone you show your love everyday

The love it's not chocolates, flowers, expensive gifts

In my opinion the love and caring that you show everyday

The small detail that you have with the person you love

It's more important than one day someone choose for "love and romance"

Love is like a plant that must be watered every day

Not only in Valentine's day

If you do not dedicate time, love, understanding, loyalty, trust and passion

to your partner the love start to getting cold

There's only one addiction

though it comes in many shapes

That thrashing, restless seeking

to from mortality escape

You numb it with the bottle

and think that transience gone

Till the frozen dragon wakens

with the rising of the dawn

Mask it with a needle

rise on wings of drugs

Until you waken in an alley

beaten black and blue by Thugs

You climb successful ladders

Above mere mortals to ascend

To find that they are leaning

On nothing more than just the wind

Constant entertainment

endlessly occupies

keeping true attainment

always in disguise

Addictions, addictions blinding the mind

So that all will be seekers and none will ever find...

...Perhaps that passing breath of God

Can lift us from this mortal sod?

Do you know what it is

To be forced to do

something you love

So often it hurts

The thing you once loved

becomes your greatest pain

That's what I felt when I did what I did

Clouded by despair I saw no way out sacrificing soul through body all for

Fake smiles

Untrue passion

Meaningless wealth

Jaded and scarred I resurface

Unrecognizable to myself

My soul no longer knows me

I've betrayed my worth

Sacrificed for something so unworthy

I wish someone stopped me before

I hurt myself so.

Lesson learned

The world will let you suffer through grinned teeth

Than fight by your side through tears.

I know better now

Maybe I had to do what I did

Still it was a meaningless sacrifice.

“Sit still,” I whisper. She can’t hear me of course. My leg is bleeding, dripping on the leaves beneath me. It should hide among the red and gold even come morning. I wish I could hold the brush. Touch her chestnut hair. One hundred strokes takes so little time. She’s already moving off her chair towards the lamp. I lean forward, tense my thighs and spring. My hands catch the next branch, but I swing too wide and slam my shoulder hard into the chimney. I freeze and take a deep breath, listening hard for a creak, a door. Nothing. Then I’m climbing.

Cherise’s eyes are closed, but she’s not asleep yet. My huge frame blocks the moonlight coming in from the window. I’m surprised she left it open. The autumn air is cold and the curtains are flapping behind me. Her face is mostly in shadow, but I know those peach lips so well. I could draw them with my eyes closed. And her legs…so thin and pale. A groan escapes my mouth as I think about it. I’ve touched her before, but only when she was definitely out. For now, it’s best to wait. I rub my dirty hands on my jeans. Then I sit back on my haunches, knees tucked in at the armpits and think about what comes next. I notice I’m bleeding on her pink carpet. Damn.

Her soft snores are the signal and I use the windowsill to pull myself all the way upright. Both knees pop as I rise. I’m 6’9” if I’m not hunching, but I’m always hunching. I’m too much of a loser to play basketball, my voice is too deep to sound normal and the guidance counselor seems to think I’m just shy of retarded. Cherise though, she’s always been perfect. Petite with delicate feet and hands, a button nose, large green eyes. I stare down at her now, leaning against the wall opposite the lamp, my fingers restless at my zipper. Wanting her. I make myself wait a minute longer just to be sure.

I can’t talk to her. Even though I grew up next door, I stopped being able to have a normal conversation with her around ten. Her mother invited me to her thirteenth birthday party (a pity invite for sure) and we played spin the bottle. I wanted to kiss her so much, but when it was my turn, she pulled me into the mudroom and put her finger up to her lips. “Shhh,” was all she said. I stood there an inch from her face, breathing her warm breath, looking at her new breasts and suddenly I had to try. She was looking down, a blush rising to the tips of her ears. I grabbed her around the waist, pushing her back against the dryer. I’m not sure what I was hoping for, but she screamed and I was tossed out on my ass. Thus began the hostile stares from her friends and hushed conversations between our parents.

Now that we’re 17, it hasn’t gotten any better and in fact, I think she might be afraid of me now. I’ve done some bad things. I know that. Her dad told my mom last month after the locker room incident that he was considering selling the house. But really, isn’t this normal stuff? Normal teenager stuff? I have a crush on her. That’s all. A crush and 140 pictures of her on my phone. Cherise eating, Cherise changing, Cherise playing soccer, Cherise touching herself (my personal favorite). They’re all good really.

I’ll never be able to leave her alone. I mean, she gets that I think. She understands. I wrote her a note about it during Spanish. So old school, but texting is impossible because of the restraining order.

She’s out for sure now, her breaths coming long and slow, mouth wide. I bend down close. I want to put my finger in her mouth or maybe lick her lip. I’m calculating which when her eyes snap open and her hand appears from nowhere gripping a huge gun.

“Whoa!” My hands fly up automatically and I stumble back, knocking my head against her ceiling fan. Cherise flings back her comforter and swings her legs out fast. I notice she’s fully dressed.

“You freak,” she says, her voice hushed. “You just won’t effing stop, will you?”

“Where’d you get a gun Cherise?” I knew every nook and cranny of her house and her dad doesn’t own one.

“I bought it. So that you. Would. Stop. Bothering me!” she hush-screamed.

“Are you gonna kill me?” I’m not worried. Cherise refused to dissect the frog. I highly doubt she’s gonna murder my ass in her bedroom.

She rolled her eyes, more annoyed than angry I think and then noticed the blood on my sneaker. “What the hell?”

“Wanna see it?” I’m ever hopeful…

“No, but you might as well show me.”

I lift my pant leg. CHERISE is carved deep into my calf. I’m not sure why it’s still bleeding so much. Maybe I should have burned it after or something.

“Goddamnit Eric!! Why are you doing this?” Her shoulders shake a little (with revulsion I think, bummed) and the gun, which sagged when she bent over my leg, is pointed at me again.

I try to explain, again, for the hundredth time. “I want you Cherise. I want us to be together. I want to…”

The gun went off mid-sentence and I stop talking to look down at my chest. A huge hole appears dead center of my Chewie T-shirt.

I fall forward onto my knees and look up at her. I can’t believe she shot me, but I’m also weirdly proud of her.

“You wanted to have me? Here you go! Have me forever!” She screams and throws the gun down on the bed. She starts stripping off her clothes fast, wild. I’m coughing up blood now, but still trying to watch her as she rips her legs out of those tight black pants and pulls her T over her head. My vision is blurry, but she’s just about to unhook her bra and…

There are so many Nevers.

I'll never hold you again.

I'll never fall asleep or wake up to you again.

You'll never run your hands through my hair again.

You'll never buy me chocolate again.

I'll never wear your T-shirt again.

I'll never feel your lips brush my cheek again.

You'll never say you love me again.

You'll never send me ridiculous kissy-face pictures again.

I'll never eat your food again.

I'll never hear you complain about the water in the shower being too hot again.

God, there are just too many of them. I'm drowning in Nevers. 

I know that a day will come when someone else will take your place in all of these things, but that's what I'm scared of. That I'll love him and you'll love her, and these things will be even farther away than they are now. You were the first person who made it easy for me to love. I just wish I knew two months ago how many Nevers there would be now. I would never have said goodbye. I would never have let you walk away from me.

Nobody takes a bite

Unless I say you do

You've had your fill

So you know how it feels

I'm not the piper

But I dictate the beat

You can either dance

Or step aside and glance

Nobody takes a break

Unless you ask me too

You'll rather play

Than trim the hay

I'm not the delicacy

But I tune the heat

You have had your meal

Now do the deal