i’m sorry for the lines i blurred
my fingertips sliding past yours
i’m sorry for all the lies i’ve told
if you hated me enough my name
would eventually cross your mind
i’m sorry for the way i looked at you
a novel in my hand but in reality i was
reading between the lines of the sky
high above you and the ground beneath
for all the words i wrote thinking of you
all those long nights my vision blurred as i
whispered into dark silence for my mind to
let me live and when there were enough words
just floating in the air they became poetry
Strong and Silent Type
The things I never said out loud would likely fill a very, very small bucket.
Like the one you stick ketchup and mustard in at a mom 'n pop diner - a tiny bucket.
I try so hard - so very hard - to just not speak.
I'll even try to refrain from commenting on Prose posts because inevitably I'll start getting carried away and typing in whole mini posts in the comments. I'll struggle, hit the like button, and then try to force myself to step away.
It would be great if society hadn't developed this polite, "Hey, I'm gonna let you take a turn!" talking rule. With me that's like saying, "Hey, I'm gonna just kick aside this floodgate for a second, 'cause you just seem too quiet, huh?"
I was quiet for a reason!!! Nooooooooooooo!!
My partner gets it. They don't even beat around the bush anymore. They just cut me off and say, "I've stopped listening, wrap it up." It shocks people but honestly, it's so nice to have that clearcut intervention.
'Cause I don't need to say everything. My thoughts can quite happily bounce around inside my head until they get replaced in five seconds with new ones. It's OK.
saying that you didn't matter
turning my back against you
leaving. staying. talking. staying silent.
I miss you and I wish that I could do it all over...
i'm really sorry and i want you to know that.
I'm just in your head and you know it. It's too late. You knew that I was going. You know that I am gone, gone with your tears from long ago.
I miss you too.
x libbythepencil x
sometimes i wanna rip psychology’s head off
you there, in the faux lab coat with the overly large ego. you’ve got a flair for the dramatics, don’t you? spare me the excuses, you crawl into the crevices of others’ lives and call it an observation. you track tragedies from a distance and call it an experiment. do you know when to stop? when to let go? when does scientific curiousity amount to intrusion, a part of ourselves stolen and placed under a microscope? i get the fascination, the duty to understand the human mind in the name of science. but your disciples come to you as clean slates and leave with violence-coloured glasses, so desensitised to the brutality of human nature that i question why anyone’s ever drawn to you in the first place. to fix something in ourselves? we straddle the worlds of the conscious and unconscious, but a slight toe out of line and it’s a freefall descent into the lawless pits of the psyche.
you may say it’s my fault for letting you in, well how was i supposed to know you wouldn’t leave? you plant your roots between my eyes and take the reins on my cognition - that is to say, i see you everywhere: in this oscar-winning movie i wanna sink my mind into without psychoanalysing; in my relatives when they ask me to therapize my father; in myself when my inability to form attachments scream out at me from within the pages of my textbook. you live in my mind and pay rent in life lessons i never asked for. yet i always find your little presents hidden in all the nooks and crannies of our mind. your gift of empathy is a privilege i’ve never taken lightly. i’ve no object permanence when it comes to love, but i’m starting to understand that just because i can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.
maybe this blend of bitterness and anger towards you is my own form of imaginary audience and personal fable. my amygdala controls far more than i’d like to admit; these unregulated feelings stemming from my adolescent brain like to pretend they know what they’re doing. sometimes i think i’ve got our future figured out, sometimes i wanna rip your head off. i tread lightly with the people in my life, more cautious than ever of the intricacies of human behaviour. when my friend’s mental illness is mentioned in class, i listen more attentively than ever. as much as i reject you, as much as i never saw my life heading towards your direction, i find comfort in your presence, in the way you settle in my mind.
so where do we go from here?
I need help.
I don't understand what's going on in my mind.
I feel like I don't know myself.
I have so many questions that I can't answer.
I need help.
I'm not ok...
things we never say out loud
I watch you with the anxiety of a new mother
as you amble down the street in preparation for a run,
your gait uneven and slow,
but your will unwavering
still the You of old
as you fight -
to keep at bay
as you lose
as you do
the only thing
with some hope
of your steady
I watch you, choking on tears,
as I smile encouragement
wave and blow kisses of support;
I watch you and see You
in a body that is failing you
far too soon,
hoping the mind -
signs of decay -
stays with me
just a little longer;
I watch you, I love you,
and I am missing You
You stand on the porch like an anxious new mother
waving and blowing kisses
and I bask in your love
at the same time
that I hate it.
that you have always
even before PD
but it feels different now -
I feel like a child
that needs worrying
I am just going for a run.
A run that I can’t do now
A run that once
took me less than 20 minutes
and now takes
almost an hour.
You watch me
and I feel my loss
I miss who I was
who I will never be
as you stand there
still you, always you,
still loving me
as I am.
For years I've watched from the sidelines
Longing to be a part,
But always being apart,
Because one loophole makes me afraid.
But I won't do it, I can't, I won't,
No matter how much I want to be
One of them;
Be on the stage, feel the light.
They say I can do it anyway,
But whether I can I'll never say.
I cannot ask, though I have tried,
And now I'll never have the chance.
If I really wanted it, would I have done more?
But it's too late now, and I'll move on.
But still look back and wonder:
How would it have been
If I'd had the courage to speak up?
All I want to do is sit alone & cry.. silently & lonely in my melancholy mind..
I'm at peace with my darkness and my crimes.. no one makes demands of my body and definitely not my mind.. Sadness & darkness is where I retreat, it's my comfort you see.. I can relax into my song of sadness as long as I kept hiding.. Crying tears of agony makes the evil me obey.. When I get time to dive into my melancholy mind it frees me for that moment in time.. Taking care of others with lost hopes and broken souls sucks away my power so I break down.. Wishing for the moment I can sneak away.. Constanty waiting to go back home to my Melancholy Dreams..
Five Things I Never Said Out Loud
(#5) When I look at my stove, I think of you. Because you are hot, like my stove is. Sometimes. But you are always that... hot, I mean, unlike my stove- which does cool down sometimes. Which you never do.
(#4) Let's all go down to the gastro-pub and fill ourselves with some glorious gasses. I call Shotgun!
(#3) Ed Sheeran showers more often than us earthlings all may think he does.
(#2) My zygote is chapped.
(#1) Can you please not leave your sesame sticks on the floor? They fracture easily, and I'm not in the mood for the stepping on them! Wait, Heidi Klum is on the TV.
While slicing carrots for dinner…
She fantasized dragging the knife across her virgin skin, watching the incision fill with blood, and overflow onto the table already steeped in her sweat and tears.
After all, what was a little blood?