Book of Poetry

You think you know what pain Is?

*This one's really touchy and very, very personal but I'm trying to accept that life is life and that things that were once done can't hold me down. They fizzle and die, yet here I still remain unscathed. Today (or yesterday, rather) was just awful so I needed to do something.*

Fragile floral clinging to a lifeboat of soil called coping

Lost in a sea of salted tears with our petals ripped off and our stems snapped in two

You think I don't know what it's like to feel invisible? Lost and unseen, abandoned like the mutt they see.

Dirty, vile, disgusting, full of diseases and fleas.

Only MY ailments have hidden symptoms. So disgusted with myself that I cover them--a mask of pearly whites and bit of shiny after glow.

Hiding the reek of insanity that wraps around my fingertips. Dancing, playing, always toying with my clarity.

Do you think you really know what pain is? Because I can tell you that I have no damn clue; I can only grasp at what it feels like:

Hollow. Empty. Barren like an abandoned shell.

Like a knife between the ribcage.

Panging and echoing and misery, such misery.

Deep, sombre lucidity. After all, nothing's more real than the demons that haunt me.

True pain is what you make it; I can't tell you how to feel. I can only tell you my side of the story, every bit that is far too real.

A fragile child, so oblivious to the emptiness. Making up imaginary friends, not seeing all the ignorance.

Lost, but only in a game of hide and seek. Found only when they want to be. Giggles and laughing and being with family.

Pain is not knowing what that feels like. Waking up with someone on top of you in the middle of the night.

Pain is the reverberating, horrifying screams. They're supposed to be your parents but they're caught up being enemies.

You think you know what pain is? Well you're right. You do. It's awful, dreadful, invigorating revenue.

Constant, everlasting fear. Not knowing if you're good enough, if you'll be hated for being queer.

Being used, and defiled, and manipulated, and scorned: I know all too well what pain is, can't you tell that it's so sickening?

Just a scornful little brat--to think, that's what they said! Why, they would never believe that their own daughter was being molested.

And the fighting, all the bickering, it only gets worse from here. The only time it will ever end was when the father's death was near.

And with it brought emptiness and solitude. You hated him but now he's gone?

The nasty reek of alcohol adheres to his memories.

And yet you felt no pang of grief.

Like a sly, heartless, demon, you escaped emotion's embrace.

Maybe there's something wrong with me? Why can't I just relate?

Dark, defiled, desolate, ashamed. Pain are all these things, unfocused and untamed. Like a frightened lion lashing at it's newfound cage.

But, you see, now you know me and I can tell you--so listen here--that pain is not inescapable, though I know it never disappears.

But breathe in deeply. What right do they have to keep you this way? Now exhale a new person, feel free of all your pain.

*chuckle* If only it was that easy, right? I'll be bluntly honest with you, it's one hell of a fight.

Only you can say when you've had enough. I know the world seems pointless now, but just try to lift your chin up.

Please.

Take it from me, this person who's seen just about everything: the grass is still green and the sun rises in the East.

I won't say. "get over it" because that's like telling a fish to climb a tree, but I can tell you that you won't get any better, at least not like this.

With each new sunrise brings a bucket of depression, but take it with a smile, I say. The anxieties and the desolation.; they're your clay not death's fray. Don't be afraid, just live to see another day.

Because why be that person, so afraid and so alone? Hone that pain into your strength so that you can reap what you've sown.

Craft your tears and all your fears into something entirely new.

Say adieu to your old life and just be, well,

You.