A Place I Belong -2005

-I came across some of my old stuff and thought I would post them. This was my junior year of high school, 2005-

--

Once, I thought about the world around me.

The sun, the moon.
The earth so sound.

Then there was me.

Someone so lost.
Who couldn't be found.
No place could hold me.

Everywhere I went to was unsound.
I went to so many places.
Covered so much ground.
Yet nothing could keep me.

It came as a surprise one day.
That these words seemed to resound.
"A Place to Belong".

I knew of one place.
To which I felt bound.
A heart so kind and full.
Of a love so unique and sound.
The place I was looking for.
I was there all along...

--

Look Like That: Excerpt

​

Even though I keep moving forward, there is still a part of me that lingers in the darkness of my past. No matter how much I succeed or what I accomplish, I’ll never be good enough because, in my head, she lives even though she’s been gone. 

It’s still there, the words she harmed me with like bloodied rocks and stones bruising and piercing my soul. 

Even in death, she manages to slam my head against the wall of my chest and press until the tears have nowhere else to go but out. 

And I float in that feeling, this curse, this darkness I find comfort in because it has been with me the longest. 

We both know it isn’t healthy, yet we sit, two halves of the same whole who battle back and forth between happy and sad.

Such simple emotions, you’d think, how easy it would be, but it’s not. Even in happiness, I hone in on the sad, and in the sad, in my self-run tragedy, I find its sister's anxiety and depression with worry, fear, and doubt not far on their heels. If I'm anything or nothing at all, I'm never lonely because in them, in the welcoming arms of gloom, I seek shelter in the known. 

Where darkness is, is a home I never want to visit, but it stands with open arms if I should stumble if my footing shall give way and lead me home.

It’s there.

I’m there. 

Wedded Blissful Ignorance

​I feel this kind of way when friends ask me favors. Typically one-sided, the friendship falls, so when I ask for help, it's inconvenient.

So, I stop asking. 

 I set myself up, I watch myself fall, and I understand that the den of solitude I crawl into is, in part, my own making. I've spent years digging myself deeper, burying my own needs, my belief system, and my voice. I push my needs down and wonder why people end up hurting me, but I’m the problem.

I don’t speak up because I’m afraid of being a burden, and then I just burden myself further with half friendships and crippling sadness. 

Even having the best of friends makes us fall deeper upon the one side. We're not supposed to feel this way; this yearning dread during happy times for our friends. 

It's without much effort that I settle myself on the other side of the glass and look in with longing. I press my hand against the glass in hopes of feeling the slightest touch of warmth as they laugh, but I only end up cold and distant. 

I don't speak up. I know I should, but why? If I wasn't a thought before speaking up, what would my voice do to change the views and opinions of others?

I've spent a lifetime on the outside looking in, wanting that openness others had but never fully grasping what it meant to truly be an included friend. I just watch them live, move on, and I linger in the background, silently cheering them on because, deep down, I am happy. 

I'm sad because I was a thought in their brain at one time until I wasn't, and I faded into memories I visit when I need to see a friend. I helped myself fade by tip-toeing out until I was sadly behind the window, hand pressed against the glass, watching them live as I stood still in memories of when I was included. 

Did it all start with the abuse? When I sat on the stoop in my bedroom, hand on the door as I listened to the outside happenings? I learned many things by being quiet and timid, but the greatest thing I learned was to irreversibly hurt myself more than others could hurt me.

I mastered the art of self-harm that didn’t involve cutting my wrists or pinching my skin; I pushed away until I was no longer a thought. I pushed away when I felt I was too much, and I pushed harder until no one wanted me.