Category: Poetry

Pain in the Mundane

The tears still cool my face

The pain still sits inside

I don’t feel a fucking thing

Not even a sting

Not anything

It’s so mundane

Living in world that remains the same

Spilled with compliments that don’t resonate

I stare at the ceiling, the straight line between beige and pale white. The dedication in the precision, the detail behind the line. I know they worked on this for hours, kept trying to please me. Blue tape and paint etching their nails for weeks to come. Hours spent perfecting the edge of my bedroom walls. So why do I not feel it. The dedication and love, the heart and reality behind their intentions. I know that’s true, I know that they do, but something inside me is keeping it from me. The knowledge is there, I know how to act. So why do I wake up each day with a plan for the day. One dream each night that replays through my dreams. A feeling of nothing but waiting in my veins.

I yearn for more.

I aim for more.

I do what I can to please.

So why can’t I feel better when it seems to be enough?

I feel the same when I walk into a room full of glittering surprise Christmas decorations hanging around my bedroom. Painted walls that trace along my personalized collage wall, no damage done. The care taken with words used around me. 

Sentences broken,

Different tones chosen.

Eyes stolen by the floor, refusing to look anymore into the lifeless sole they’ve molded.

Why can’t I feel even a morsel more???

I can write all this down, but why is it when I fully process and sit down; it all seems to pound. It doesn’t make sense. I can’t recognize that I’m someone that affects others. I’ve always worried about the harm i do, the damage my problems put on to others, so why is it so fucking hard to accept that I could be a positive thing. Someone with benefits to bring. 

I wait for someone to notice me, to appreciate anything I work so hard on. Once they do I feel nothing new, the same numb feeling of needing to improve. 

Life feels so wrong.

I’m not here.

I’m just some robot trying to fit in.

Doing what’s expected and projected by others,

With no clue to what I would do without you.

It’s all or nothing

Not even a sway,

Decision-less days,

Cemented in place,

mind floating in space.

An empty canvas,

Brushless and dry.

No tears in my eye,

No sense of a life.

Numbing the bad,

Leaves a bare bachelor pad,

Abandoned and cheap-

Where the mice sleep.

When nothing remains,

I ache for the pain.

Something to change,

The repeating charade .

Take once a day

To run away,

Stay in the mundane—

Or flush them down the drain.

fight the infected

But what’s even left?

The need to escape,

An aid to eliminate,

powerful apocalypse,

Zombies always do go for the brain.

A battle with monsters,

At least drew a reaction.

Slayed once with a blade,

Now with something “safe”

the only company I knew,

Now gone.

A deserted place,

Ransacked and flamed,

Is all that remains.

It’s all or nothing.

Power in a Powerless World

A place of everything

Grow up to be “anything”

But it all means nothing

It’ll never be enough.

A cycle of ache

An infinite streak

A higher level each week

Not built for the weak

a colony of identity

The swarm of humanity

It’s all in the mind

The weight of our thoughts

Stress, worries, even just stray

Fragments, causing disarray

I need to put it to bay.

The urge to patrol any Moldable space- consequential damaging trace. 

Making the first cut

Binding the mint shut.

Counting the class snack,

Carrying the one

On the half of a hot dog bun

Too young for an app to track

Memories fade

But not from a blade

It’ll never be enough,

Power in a powerless world.

The Bridge between 99 and 100

One more 

One more bite

One more try

The aim to feel complete

To reach that feat

We’re only meat

Numbers of measure

Determining our pleasure

Full of pressure

To be light as a fucking feather 

The suffocating need to weigh

Skin and bones each day

Watching the numbers sway

Molding myself like clay

One more pound

One more time

One more lie

It’s fine.

A Headstone for Scars

They say two negatives makes a positive

So why is it questioned when it’s true

It’s prodded and called flawed

An attempt at fame when it’s 

Really just trying to run from the pain 

The intention behind the incision

The focus on the glisten

Mind Overflow- let the blood go

Power in the control

Think outside the box

Just below your socks

Then it’s down your arms

Up your thighs

Behind your eyes.

It shouldn’t be a surprise

To feel a sting

When you still hear their words ring

The need to see rather than be

The power in me is clearer 

The retrieve when I grieve 

Please don’t leave as I heave 

I want to breathe how they breathe–

With ease. 

Cold marble engraved with initials

Death date decades gone

A film of plaque covering its skin

A tooth decaying with age

Cavities taking up space

memories of only a blank face

A headstone stuck in place.

Side eyes,  sticky thighs

Both visual and physicalScars inside need a headstone too.

Destruction in a Perfect World

Is it easier to take, when it’s me at stake

World tumbling, I’m the one left suffering

A risk-taker alone, chaos my one success

It all seems self inflicted-something must be twisted

When will I know how to let it all go?

The all consuming focus on nothing.

The healing scab peeling back like, 

The sticker that leaves no tacky trace like,

The nail polish that flakes right off like,

The silence that follows silence.

lack of conflict or lack of contact?

Saying more in silence than compliance

Comfort in the pain that never fails to stain

Craving nostalgia requires melting away 

Running the opposite way just to feel a sway

Self protection or just a scared reflection?

The satisfying sound of nothing.

The morning after the last day of school like,

The first sip of an icee before it’s sweating like,

The relief after the knuckles crack like,

The need to fall back, lose track. 

Dialing up the white noise, quiets the same inside 

How does the sound of something silence nothing?

Yet an empty buzz shatters a cohesive anything?

Living in the before avoiding any of the after

Dancing with the prince and never pricking my finger,

Is it worth it to be a pumpkin, never moving over 10 miles an hour

Only to avoid it when the clock strikes a little longer?

The contorting comfort of nothing.

The last tick on the to do list like,

The last blink before a nap like,

The water finally getting hot like,

The rewinding mind to keep intact.

Resisting conflict, missing contact.

The cycle has to end – 

my my, here comes step number 5;

Running the extra mile, towards denial.

Not learning, infinitely stuck churning.