Stormy Weather

There’s a storm raging on outside as I write this,

and I can’t help but want to dance in it.

I feel so constrained by my own anxieties.

Everything is illuminated by the lightning,

and every window shakes with the thunder.

I wish emotions were more powerful than that.

That the world would quake beneath my feet at a feeling;

that I could shine brighter than anything else.

I wish I was as threateningly serene as a rainstorm.

There’s the melancholy air all around,

yet I am calm to the beat of the water –

hitting the gutter, hitting the ground.

There’s a storm raging on outside as I write this,

And I can’t help but wish I were a part of it.

-

Me?

Sometimes my skin doesn’t feel like my skin.

And my hands don’t feel like my hands.

And my body doesn’t feel like my body.

And I wish none of it was mine.

I don’t like my curves or lack thereof.

I don’t like the unevenness of my body.

Or how my thighs look.

Or how my hair looks.

Or how my face looks.

And I am not beautiful.

And I am not hot.

I am nothing.

Nothing to look at.

Nothing to think of.

Nothing at all.

But that’s okay. I’m not opposed to it.

It’s just who I am.

And I won’t believe the compliments I get,

And I’m not asking for attention.

I don’t need you to repeat it.

It’s okay.

I’ve accepted what I cannot change.

-

Untitled.

I couldn’t think of how to title this ‘poem’.

Or how to write it.

Or what to put in it.

Or what not to put in it.

There are things I want to tell you but I can’t.

I suppose I think of them as explanations,

For some of the things I will and won’t do,

For some of the twisted thoughts inside my head.

But every time I open my mouth to speak

The words I’ve kept inside forever,

A lump rises in my throat,

And my heart pounds,

And my chest tightens,

And I say ‘never mind’,

Because it’s not worth freaking out over.

And you don’t need to see me have a meltdown.

I don’t want to see me have a meltdown.

But fuck I don’t always get a choice.

And it seems to important to type, or write down,

But I can’t speak it aloud.

And I don’t know if I’d be worse off if people knew,

Or better off. It’s hard to predict.

How would anyone react?

I’ve convinced myself they’d all run.

So my lips will be sealed for now.

-

Titles aren’t flowing freely today.

I repeat myself.

I say tell the same stories over and over again.

I write about the same characters and change their names.

I have trouble letting go.

I can’t erase a character from my works or it’s not right.

I can’t get rid of the memory of someone no matter how I try.

I don’t speak my mind.

I change the topic or ramble on until they’ve forgotten my point.

I never suggest anything and I keep my mouth shut.

I lie to myself.

I can’t tell the difference between reality and invented memory anymore.

I don’t know whether I’m really sad or imagining it.

I repeat myself.

I use the same pattern to write a poem.

I say I more often than I should.

I repeat myself.

I am used to not having my voice heard.

I repeat myself.

I do what others want and not what I want.

I repeat myself.

I want to let people know how I’m feeling.

I repeat myself.

I realised no one listened, not once.

-

Truth be told

I’m always making excuses for you,

Aloud or in my head, it doesn’t matter.

You hurt me.

You hurt me and I try to convince myself

that it didn’t happen like that.

You hurt me. You hurt me.

I told myself, and tell myself, I’m too sensitive.

It’s my fault. It’s always my fault again and again.

No. I’m not. It’s not.

You hurt me.

I shouldn’t have known better than to trust you.

YOU should have known better than to hurt me.

You knew me – I thought you did anyway.

You knew what I was like.

You knew how I felt and I let you know it all.

And I needed you.

And you weren’t there.

You weren’t there for me.

She died and I couldn’t cry to anyone.

I would have cried to you but you weren’t there.

You left me alone.

I was alone and you knew.

Fuck, they all hurt me.

I couldn’t talk to anyone.

I had no one.

Do I still have no one?

Why won’t my brain stop

I was meant to be releasing feelings

Not making things worse

I cant do this anymore.

I quit.

-

Nightmares

I woke up shaking this morning

Around four am and I was scared.

I’m often scared but this was different.

It’s as though whenever I get myself

Up up up into a good headspace,

I falter. I crumble. I fail.

It’s inevitable.

Are dreams your subconscious thoughts?

Are they premonitions?

A result of memories?

Or something else entirely,

An enigma wrapped inside a mystery?

I doubt I’ll ever know.

And I suppose this is just another thing,

Another thing to add to the list of worry.

Will I ever be okay?

How was everything so bright,

And yet it felt dark? How did the light

Feel dirty on my skin?

Is it even my skin in a dream?

Were those cuts my cuts?

Was the blood even mine?

Was he even the same person there?

Were any of them?

Was I?

Why am I still crying?