some days I just want to scream. what do I do with all of this? all this pain and fear and anger? with all these memories and scars... and wounds? I didn't deserve even half of it...

I remember not distant enough screams
smashing glass
deafening chaos
followed by
silence that shattered

I remember hiding
trying to disappear
pretending I never existed

can’t tell you how often
I wished I had the power
to uncreate myself

I remember holding in my arms
a shaking child
his tears soaking my shirt
as I rocked and hummed
trying so hard
to hold it in
and not fall apart

I remember the pain
the loneliness
the inability to speak
or do anything about it
the feeling of being a helpless child
needing to act like a together adult

and now I sit here tearing up
blood stained and urine soiled carpet
with the smell of horror in my nostrils
patching holes punched through dulled walls in rage
scraping pealing paint
adding a layer of fresh color
with waves of memories crashing over me
with a sickness in my stomach
as an adult trying to make this hellhole
into someone else’s dream home
God I hate being here

I wonder if they’ll be able to sense
the pain that haunts this house
beneath the freshly painted walls
and newly carpeted floors
the rooms cry and scream
I cry

I cry for all the secrets I’ve kept
and continue to keep
for all the pain I never stopped
or even tried to
for what happened in silence
in the deep of night
that still goes unknown
to all but three

I really hate being here
revisiting hell
over and over again
but finally this is the last time
one more coat of paint
to this tiny room
and I can leave it behind forever
as only a memory
only a memory

(if it could ever be only that)

Why does tomorrow feel

beyond that of possibility

And today as though it

is lost to a fluid surreality

and all that my life is

is a burden of a past

carved so vividly

bloodily

permanently

into my being

that though I try to escape

I am always brought back

I am chained to moments in time

Harsh and unforgettable

Unforgiveable moments

Replayed over and over

And everything else is but background noise

Branded, scarred, mutilated for all eternity

And all the present does is

Pour salt on these old, but still bleeding wounds

I long to fly

But have long ago broken my own wings

what's the point in trying if it's never going to get better?

some days it all too much. It hurts so damn much to care and honestly love people some times. I don't wish to not care, I don't wish to not let people in. (not really) but with love we open ourselves to pain. and it can be hard.

I wish everyone could understand the quiet pain I go through when I can't speak all I know for the sake of confidences, but want so much to ease pain. I don't know what to do in these moments when I love two people who are hurting each other, when it doesn't seem to be enough to be loyal to both and neither.

To love people and have them push you away because they can't understand how you can love both of them and not choose between them

I just love, and listen, and remain

and it never really seems to be enough, but I'm more than aware that it's all I really can do

I don't know how to say things when I need to most.
and I don't know how to tell you of this past I wish with every bit of my soul wasn't there.
I know you want to know, but I don't know how to say it.

some days I think the thing I'm best at is keeping my silence.

although my poems often speak volumes.....

The Love I Know

The Love I Know

He pulls me close
and promises to protect
         me
from the world.

He strokes my hair
and tells me that he
loves
      me.

But then in an
       instant
this violent temper takes over
and the man
         I love
disappears behind
an angry monster.

where does he go?

He beats me down
time after time
without a single
            
           hesitation

only an afterthought.

Then he comes to me
with his lip service
      apologies
and begs me to come
back.

 And somehow I
always
limp back
into his open arms,
stupidly,
      maybe

but I always come
back.

Because I like it
when he pulls me
close 
and promises to
protect
        me
 from the world.
When he strokes my hair
and tells me that he

 loves
       me.

implosion

I don't know what to do sometimes when I get angry. I'm afraid of being angry. it feels unsafe. I'm always stuck in the debate as to whether I swallow the anger and pain and just not say anything, or say something and risk hurting the other's feelings. I feel I'm not really allowed to be angry. I don't get angry that often but once angry it lingers. I feel tainted by it. Then I turn the anger inward and begin to destroy myself for having let anything bother me and for not always saying anything either. I implode because I'm so afraid of exploding. I hate this.