I'd rather show you my soul than my scars.
And I guard my soul very closely.
100ThemesChallenge - RotFruit flies over a kitchen sink and reddish paint splashed across the tiles in a vicious X. Smashed china crunches beneath feet that don't dare move and somewhere something bigger than a mouse scurries for cover. Screams from squemish women - one faints and in a pointless act of chivalry a man swears in the direction of the noise.
Glares at the man - the silence has been broken and along with it something far less tangible; an ambience of narcissistic respect for this person they had never spoken to. He hangs his head turns away looking ill. Another makes a move to pick up the disarrayed furniture and someone notices; steps forward to help him. Together to group tidy the flat in a trance, opening windows and letting fresh air wash away stale dust. They pry through the bedroom, setting a lamp back on the stand, flicking through photo albums but through unspoken agreement no one enters the kitchen, where a rotting stench still rules, and creatures rustle behind cabinets, as if whispering
The Past We ForgaveWe took off our clothes, and we tore the paper from the walls, the carpet from the floor. We burnt those framed photographs and ripped out the wires. We took it down brick by brick, until only scrub-covered ground remained.
And we let the Earth be, how it was meant to be.
The Infectious TabooThey think they can get rid of me. But no, lift a stone and you will see me, split a piece of wood along the crease of your thumb, and you will see me. Look inside, and look hard, into the tiny, dark parts of yourself you would rather ignore. And you will see me.
Overduei don't want to be human,
because then i wouldn't have
emotions for you to trample
and hopes for you to burn.
(i know you can't catch
smoke in a bottle,
but i tried anyways.)
i don't want to be human,
because then i wouldn't have
a body for you to strike
or a will for you to break.
(my fingers are all
bloodied from trying
to pick up the pieces.)
i don't want to be human,
because then i wouldn't have
for you to steal.
i hope you're just
your truth.i've memorized the map of the world on your skin, the crevices and caverns and shallow valleys, the porcelain cracks and blackening alleys and maybe i'm just scarred from the thousand times i've shattered, but i feel the need to tell you that you matter.
and i wish i could show you that you're so much more than light and darkness and spaces in between, all the times you've ached and all the pain you've seen.
and i wish i could show you that faith and love are what it means to be alive, but you just can't seem to open your eyes and now i'm praying someday you'll fall in time with someone who can change your mind.
darling, please, don't let life be an array of color you refuse to see.
Denial and Charcoal FleshYour eyelids are melting to a color I wish not to share.
Stars look on while sealed irises are coated by a latex black.
Ignorance inking your silence, and holding harmless heartbeats to reality.
Charcoal lips kiss, but only taste dehydration and dead skin.
Fingertips blistered and desperate would love to feel again,
oh but there is a fire in the night,
and he is burning us all.
The scent of incinerated flesh mixing with denial.
Flames lick at my doubts, unacknowledged wounds ooze ash.
And although you cannot see
how you're stripping scabs from charred skin,
at least I know
you can smell it.
i hate your love storiesand your tumblr aesthetics
with your shit john green quotes
full of naivety and idealized concepts
of what romance is supposed to be.
i want to burn your paper towns
into a silver-spined grave looping
around the melted ink and torched page
and i want to shoot your gas balls
till they dive bomb the dust everyone
loves to proclaim as their aura.
and there is fault in our stars
'cause you believe you are one
and i'm sorry
but you're not even a setting sun;
forerunner of gatling gun stunners
you're more thief
(hiding) in the night (from life)
than ray of (shining) light (in the sky).
illusions of oasis making you look twice
when beauty becomes ugly--
beholding stare of immaturity;
eye maturing knowing nurturing hue
over letting nature torture you
is the best route for two.
HeKnows She's Beautifulshe walks around with
a paper bag on
her head and he
a l l
o v e r
oh, cassandrathe sun was a fool
when he thought himself worthy enough to
be blessed by the temple that
was your lips.
they all whispered.
like the delirium of a fever
that burns hotter than the
summer flames, turning skin
to paper and bones to dust.
but no -
for you shone bright
and the words that fell from your tongue
should have been enough to bring
all armies to their pathetic knees.
the future danced along
your fingertips the way
fire flirts with kindling.
and if the rest of the world
turns their faces away;
if the rest of the world
sneers with a scorn that would make
a snake hiss in displeasure,
i will bury a blade between
their ribs - one forged of
a god's belated remorse and a mortal's
My Name Is...My name is Love
Because no one understands me
My name is Hate
Because love is hard to deal with sometimes
My name is Sorrow
Because I know how to find you when you're hidden
My name is Joy
Because I'm always here, even if you don't notice
My name is Compassion
Because I will do my best to never let anyone feel lost and alone
My name is Strength
Because I will never let someone loose the courage to stop living
My name is Courage
Because strength is the cheese to my Macaroni
My name is Never
Because I am unrecognizable
My name is Forever
Because thats how long memories last
My name is Lonely
Because I feel alone in crowded rooms
My name is Crowded
Because sometimes being alone with myself is to much
My name is Blessed
Because I cherish the moments spent when I smile
My name is Clueless
Because sometimes I forget what we are talking about
My name is Heartless
Because sometimes I forget to help you up when you fall
My name is Freedom
Because my heart will never be caged
My name is Differen
our storydid you know that that there's no point in keeping a secret? silence means nothing...
'cause if you don't tell a story, it tells itself...
i don't remember when you first told me when you liked me but i remember the box of chocolates and the first trip to the movies that told me before you did; all the little things, all those kisses on the cheek and the flowers every so often.
i love you meant that extra little something when I realised just how much you, a barely-graduated first year lawyer, spent (wasted, because i'd be happy with anything) on that sapphire/white gold engagement ring.
our marriage? it was told in dinners.
it feels like such a long time since those weeks - months - when we'd stand in the kitchen for hours every afternoon, trying to make everything in that fancy recipe book that i jokingly bought you a couple of years into uni as a subtle hint of what you should have been expecting for our relationship.
it has been a long time
ForgotClose my eyes and think of you.
I don't know how you do what you do.
Calm me down, you're not even here.
You can bring me to my knees without fear.
Crying, but it feels good tonight.
It just reminds me that soon I'll be alright.
So come get me, come here today.
That's the only thing I have left to say.
Take me away from the ones that hurt me.
And let's just show the world what we could be.
I don't know where this is coming from.
But I think my body's slowly going numb.
It's not okay, for once I won't lie.
Suicidal thoughts, they should go die.
I'm here alone, but I close my eyes and you're there.
I love you so much, and I don't care.
Don't care what they say or what they think.
The less we talk the lower I sink.
I could talk to you all day, it never gets old.
This is just a story that's already been told.
Yes, I'm rambling like I do a lot.
But there was a point to this, I just...forgot.
The Only Me You KnowYou look at my legs and see them slim and tanned and smooth.
I look at my legs and see the cuts and bruises. I see the places I've pinched and punched and scratched them. I see the scars that will never truly heal.
You look at my arms and see my pretty bracelets, the long slim fingers.
I look at my arms and see the reminders of the promises I made. I see the fingers that have drawn blood. I see the invisible scars that will always stay with me.
You look at my face and see laughter, a smile in bright blue eyes, kindness on soft lips.
I look at my face and see the forced smile. I see the pain and heaviness in eyes that are more grey than blue. I see the suppressed tears.
You look at me and see a girl: happy, intelligent, with her whole life ahead of her.
I look at me and see a girl in pain, suffering but trying to hide it, wishing she was normal, wishing she was dead.
You look at me and think you know me. But you only know the 'me' that I want you to know. You only know the mask.
suppressThe human mind is a funny thing. It lets you repress things for an infinite amount of time, but eventually the event that you're trying to forget will come back and bite you in the ass.
I've successfully repressed nearly an entire year from my life but slowly, the memories are flowing back. The smallest things can set me off, and I'll remember the painful events I've been trying to forget for a year.
Today, it was a band-aid.
I was in my bathroom, looking for something in one of the drawers, when I spotted a little bandage, which brought back one of my worst memories.
It was the end of May, a few days before my middle school graduation and the day before my cousin Joy's wedding. This was back in the dark days, when the only time I was happy was when I was slashing a razor across my flesh and watching the blood stream down my arm.
I had an audition for The Producers that night, and only one night before had been one of my worst incidences of self-harm ever. My arms were
A testament to finding love.It was an easy start, but it was a race that was yet to be run in its entirety, each time he catches the wind, the world pulls him back. Living like a broken kite stuck on moulding string he drags himself into the air as the wind rises. Pulling the hands that held him tenderly he folds dreams around him in the tattered rags of ten year old clothes.
Was it so quiet?
The first night that I met you
Was it this cold then?
Sleepily reaching to beckon the clashing of feet, the crushing of lips, the entrancement of hands and the pulse of eyes that hold onto endangered landscapes of flesh. The last of his dreams of love holds itself stubbornly in its innocence as it breaks the ribs around it and shoves waves of sorrow crashing into his mind. The last of his hopes is being ground from the pearl it was into the dust, the smoothness becoming roughness; tenderness becoming impetuousness, courtesy gets thrown away in rage and pain.
Were my screams this loud?
Before I found the voice inside
I will love,
with the greatest desire,
and sweetest endearment.
my heart will be broken.
but at least I'll have not have,
lived a life with an empty heart
and love letters to no address.
I will laugh,
tears will fall, I'm sure
but they will be out weighed
by a smile so bright,
it'll be seen by a blind person.
and a laugh so loud,
a deaf person will hear.
I will learn,
from the mistakes I make,
and the books I read.
I will learn from friends,
and strangers just alike.
I will learn the unknown,
and fill it with passion.
I will live,
in the terms of my own.
on the edge of cliffs,
and in the depths of sea.
I will live like there's no tomorrow,
tomorrow will not come.
onehundretythirtysevenYou drew wings on my shoulders and I tried to fly away
But the cannon ball chained to my leg only let me go so high.
We used to keep our secrets in boxes,
Written on paper folded over so many times they started to fall apart.
Between us there are twenty four pairs of ribs,
(though a few of mine are broken)
Sixty four organs,
And one hundred and thirty seven scars.
You'd count the notches in my collarbone,
And tell me I was beautiful when I cried,
(But damaged goods were never really worth it.)
We'd lie in the streets and be beaten by the rain,
Because it was never loud enough from my windowsill.
I would cut stars out of yellow paper and put them under my pillow at night,
Because you said the real ones were too hard to get, no matter how high I tried to jump.
You gave me wilted flowers for my birthday and said
The Solace She SeeksShe's the one that most refuse to see,
sheltered eyes closed against the pain
that dwells in our world.
You don't see the pain in her eyes,
glazed over with tears,
and the scars that line her arms.
She sits in the dark,
of her lonely apartment,
breathing in the mold, and the breath of dead rats.
She chooses darkness
because the lights reminds her
too much of the glaring fluorescent from the hospital lights.
She'll pick fights with her mind,
and any rats that choose to look her way.
It's a Hell on Earth,
trapped in the grimy one-room apartment,
where she seeks solace
from the throbbing of her headaches,
and the cowardice she trembles with,
fearing the onslaught of accusing hallucinations.
She begins to wonder
if she wouldn't be better off
in the real Hell,
beneath the Earth.
But each day she wakes,
to tape a nicotine patch to her back,
sticky fingers latching onto the skin
of her shoulder blade.
She throws away her brand new pack,
and tells herself she's ready to quit.
She doesn't want