To The Troubled Souls:

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It wrenches my heart to hear it said
That the mentally ill are sick in the head
When it goes unknown what it is they feel
And whether or not their pain is real

Who can say, with certainty, that
Anything’s real? We’re just a ‘brain in a vat’
Experiencing the world subjectively
Allowing things to pass unexpectedly

There is a notion onto which I cling
That allows for anything you wish to bring
Into existence to finally be seen
By you and whoever else believes.

The world is cold and harsh out there
Bravery is the only mask you can wear
Your scars convey more than they conceal
But their stories are still only yours to reveal

Don’t let them know you without your consent
They will never know truthfully what you meant
When you dragged that blade across your skin
But, please, don’t believe when they say ‘its a sin.’

These actions, you see, are not from your heart
They were not part of you from the start
The pain you inflict is but an expression;
An outward display of your auto-aggression

Know that when you feel displeased
There are other ways to get release
From the clenching hold of condemning words
Trust me, I know how much it hurts.

Then again, don’t trust a single soul
You’ll see that you can’t as you grow old
Everyone hides their true intentions
That’s why I strive for prevention

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Foolish Banter

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So, this is how it works:
You’ll meet and kiss and hug,
He might hold your hand,
But he’ll never show you love.

He might leave you breathless
With the charms of a spoken word,
But don’t let his banter fool you
Or you’ll be left a broken girl.

My dear, I don’t mean to scare you.
In love, there’s so little to hate,
But once the veil’s been pulled
Your heart will begin to break.

When that time comes,
When the world falls apart,
Please, recall my words:
This is no end, but a brand new start.

Try

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When the world starts spinning out of control; so, too, does your mind.

Even if you aren’t aware; your thoughts mirror the world you find.

The things you think create the world you see; thought and experience combine.

For the ones we label “crazy,” thoughts and experiences do not always align.

They see a world, in which they function, but we can’t see it from the outside.

There is only one way to communicate between worlds, and that is to be kind.

We are not privy to the knowledge of what the others wish to hide.

We can only extend an offer of something we know we can provide.

And that is to understand, or at the very least, to try.

Do you want to see the most beautiful part?

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I tell my stories because, unlike my sulking face and my slim frame, they are truly beautiful. My stories are not made better or worse by passing trends and they are not played up with accessories or pops of color.

I have been told all my life how very beautiful I was. I was assured that I should feel no hatred towards myself, that I shouldn’t harm myself, because of this beauty. As far as the outside world has always been concerned, sadness and beauty are mutually exclusive.

I wish I could tell you how many times it was revealed to me that my sadness simply could not be: I was far too pretty. I wish I could tell you that it made me feel better, but it never has. I have always been one to look upon my reflection, finding comfort in knowing I was stronger than they knew. It didn’t comfort me to know that I was nice to look at, if anything it made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to be beautiful to the world. I wanted to be tragic…

The abrasions on my skin were never enough to turn me ugly. No one even noticed them, really. If they did notice, no one said anything. I was fooling the whole world with my award winning smile.

The part of me that has been so vastly overlooked, the part I find most beautiful, is the part inside that you can not see.

I am most infatuated with the words that flutter from my lips like liquid courage falling from the lip of a bottle. It comes in bits and pieces so small you can’t separate them from the whole. The “whole” is a massive contortion of the English language that bends around the drums so as to avoid being detected by undeserving ears. The true beauty is in the meaning of the linguistic nonsense spewing from the semantic centers of my brain.

You want to see the most beautiful part?

Well, then, close your eyes.
Listen to the stories that have shaped me in the most abstract sense of the word. If you could imagine shaping a mound of clay without ever physically touching your skin to the re-hydrated ball of sand particles and other microscopic minerals, then you can imagine being formed from the indirect touching of people and places and events going on around you. None of it physically grasps you, but it tosses you about.

Feel with your fingers, the fleeing formation of the clay, as you hold it beneath the water. Feel the particles disintegrate as they reintegrate with the di-hydrogen monoxide. Strain the water to find the dissociated particles that are once again forming a solid mass. Feel as the malleable mass mutates as you mold the molecules to fit your form.

Now open, watch with your eyes as your own hands take this product of the earth, and with it, create something useful; something beautiful; something worth keeping.
Interpret the infinite possibilities of these peculiar particles. You have the capability to create; to understand; to transform anything into being. You have the ability to think and to think about thinking. You have these powers inside of you that you must learn to harness.

I find the most beautiful part of myself to be the deep, burning passion that I feel in my heart. The tingling of excitement when I know I am approaching home. The comfort I feel in seeing my mother’s smile. The release of the clenching in my throat to see my sister breathe fresh air; with a smile on her face, no less. The smile on my nephew’s face when he sees me for the first time in months, my father’s embrace: these are the things that make me beautiful.

Breathe

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They say that in those moments, when the earth stops spinning, that you should breathe.

To those who have never been there, to the ends of the earth and back, this advice seems easy to heed.

For those of us who have endured the sinking in the chest from the loss of what you wish to keep,

Sadly, we know all too well that a dagger through the heart feels so very deep.

You can try to swim the bloody water, though, I regret to say you’ll find its easier to sleep.

Dreams are hard to come by, as you toss and turn in bed, getting tangled in the sheets.

We’re harshly reminded of the past through visions of pure bliss we only see in our dreams.

These memories are entangled with the possibilities of tomorrow, projecting pure deceit.

As my eyes slowly open, letting in the light of today, I will keep my misery discrete.

I wouldn’t want to harm them, afraid the sadness falling from my eyes just might seep

Into the very structure of the earth, producing even more sadness for the world to reap.

I retreat inside myself, where a happy little world resides, a place where I create my own reality.

A place where I feel safe enough to finally be just me.

Resistance.

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As a child I had a strong resistance to growing up. I watched my three older sisters transform before my eyes from innocent young children to rebellious teenagers. I was afraid to be like them. I never wanted to be a teenager or an adult; to me they were evil and scary. They got older and they were meaner to me, because they got cooler and I stayed a little kid.

 

I got older too, though. It didn’t matter how hard I fought it, I couldn’t resist time. I was forced to grow up because I had to deal with some grown up situations. Once I got through all of that, I felt invincible. I hated that feeling. I wanted to feel vulnerable again, like when I was a child, or like when I thought I was in love. I wanted to have a light heart and to smile. Instead my days were full of anger and hatred. I hated everyone else and I hated myself. I hated the world because I felt alone and afraid. I wanted the rest of the world to feel as bad as I did, since I couldn’t feel as good as them. I would never be as good as everyone else. I had been mistreated throughout the years by many people who claimed to love me. I felt like love, too, was evil. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.

 

I resisted love for as long as I could. I had boyfriends who loved me and I could never love them back. I knew they would ultimately hurt me, so I wouldn’t let them, and instead I hurt them. I walked away and started over somewhere new. I always wanted that feeling but I was afraid of what would come next. I ran from the pain I knew was coming, but I craved the vulnerability.

 

Once an opportunity struck, I grabbed hold with all my might. There was a man who, when I met him, was just a boy. He was quiet and shy. He was brilliant and hard working. He admired things about me I didn’t ever recognize until he pointed them out. He was sweet and he loved his mother. This was very important to me; a man’s relationship with his mother says a lot about how he will treat you. He was defensive and loving with her. He wanted to guard her, but she was strong. She did not need his protection, she only wanted his love. He was not an affectionate person, and I imagine even his mother wishes he would be more open with her.

 

He resisted love, too. He wanted affection but he did not want to dish it out, himself. He ultimately ran away, just like I always did. We are more alike than I thought. I resist the idea that we were meant to be because, well, we can’t be.

 

I resist the feelings of emptiness that follow any memory of him. I resist the urge to reach out to him. Instead, I look blindly towards the future, hoping that he was never right for me. I hope for something better to come along, or not. I hope for isolation to become peaceful. I hope for my heart to someday be overflowing with joy like it has in the past.

 

I wonder if I will ever feel so happy as when I was gazing at the stars by your side the very first time.