I know so many people that cut..
They say its an addiction and that once you do it once it will always be part of your life.
The other night was my fifth time.
Their cuts are all in straight lines, neatly lying next to each other in rows.
Mine are crooked and overlap and cover my wrist.
There was no planning or neatness or rows. The knife just went in every direction wherever it happened to land.
Am I addicted? Will it ever go away?
I have to keep reminding myself that my actions affect other people. That my hurt could cause other people to hurt. It's so easy to think that I'm isolated from the rest of the world, considering I feel like I come from a different galaxy then everyone else, and am invading their happy Earth.
Or maybe all of them are invading my sad galaxy.
Either way, lightyears separate me and the rest of the world, so considering their feelings while I am hurting myself seems preposterous. I look around at school and ask myself if any of these people would give a shit if I were to never come to school again.
People are fine with out me.
A handful of people claim they do care. But do any of them really care? They all have their own problems and their own lives to worry about. They might care for an hour or two but they forget, they move on while I'm still stuck.
And even if they do care, do I care?
Would them caring make a difference to me?
Would them caring affect how I live, or whether or not I do?
I'm trying to make my outsides look as ugly as my insides. Then the pain will be visible.
Maybe then they'll care
Maybe then I will, too.
-Beaskie
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Dream
As I'm staring at the scars, I think about last night.
Not the animalistic, savage, destructive part.
But the part after my dad found me on the floor. After he panicked and rushed to me in my crumpled heap and choked out, "What happened Leah tell me what happened!" After I answered "I did" between my suffocating sobs. After he brought me to the car and drove me home in silence and watched as I collapsed into bed.
I'm thinking about when I slept. In the morning my dad asked if I had slept and I said no, because it felt like I hadn't. He asked if it was because of bad dreams and I said yes because that sounded like the right answer.
Later on in the day I realized I had slept all night and had one dream. The sleep wasn't resting, I didn't even remember it once I woke up. But the dream was strange.
I thought it would've been a flashback of the horrific night. That would make sense, and certainly wake and keep me up.
The dream was a vision if two homeless adults sitting on a roof. The woman was holding a child as the father was resting his head on his knees. I walked by pretending not to notice--something that we all do on a daily basis and something I hate in myself more than anything--but I always look back. And when I looked back I saw that the man had taken the baby in one arm and held the woman in the other.
I also remember noticing how the child was silent, never cried once.
The homeless family was also extremely large-not fat, but like giants.
I think that symbolizes how important they are, but yet the silence of the child symbolizes how we as a whole will consciously ignore them time after time.
This dream really bothered me.
-Beaskie
Not the animalistic, savage, destructive part.
But the part after my dad found me on the floor. After he panicked and rushed to me in my crumpled heap and choked out, "What happened Leah tell me what happened!" After I answered "I did" between my suffocating sobs. After he brought me to the car and drove me home in silence and watched as I collapsed into bed.
I'm thinking about when I slept. In the morning my dad asked if I had slept and I said no, because it felt like I hadn't. He asked if it was because of bad dreams and I said yes because that sounded like the right answer.
Later on in the day I realized I had slept all night and had one dream. The sleep wasn't resting, I didn't even remember it once I woke up. But the dream was strange.
I thought it would've been a flashback of the horrific night. That would make sense, and certainly wake and keep me up.
The dream was a vision if two homeless adults sitting on a roof. The woman was holding a child as the father was resting his head on his knees. I walked by pretending not to notice--something that we all do on a daily basis and something I hate in myself more than anything--but I always look back. And when I looked back I saw that the man had taken the baby in one arm and held the woman in the other.
I also remember noticing how the child was silent, never cried once.
The homeless family was also extremely large-not fat, but like giants.
I think that symbolizes how important they are, but yet the silence of the child symbolizes how we as a whole will consciously ignore them time after time.
This dream really bothered me.
-Beaskie
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Ugly
It hit again. I told you, no matter how good the day is, it doesn't matter. It still hits.
And I also told you that every time it hits, it hits harder.
I'm in the bathroom. There aren't any lights on and the door is closed. I stare into the vast darkness and feel nothing and everything. The darkness goes and goes and goes and yet it stops right infront of my eyes and hits me like a wall as I fall endlessly into it.
I am in my studio. You've said so many words to me but I don't remember how to hear them. I don't remember how to respond. And then I don't remember how to blink or stand so I fall and you catch me but I'm still endlessly falling.
I lie on the couch and I try to remember how to move my arm and my hand and my finger. Nothing moves. I try to remember how to move my eyes. Nothing moves. I try to remember how to scream for help but sound is non-existant. And you leave because I have become part of the furniture again. And the couch caves in and I am endlessly falling.
I can hear your car start. I remember how to scream. So that's what I do. I scream and grunt and turn into a savage animal. My legs remember how to move so they kick at the demons no one else can see and my arms remember how to move so they try to grasp the hands around my neck. But the hands stay and push me so that I am endlessly falling.
I stand up and walk to the sink and I am still screaming and grunting. I stand infront of the sink looking at the mirror that faces my studio. But I don't remember how to see my studio, so I stare at the reflection of an animal that looks like me. She is grunting and screaming and howling and her mouth is open she is baring her teeth and her hair sticks to her face from the glue of tears and makeup and she has a knife in her hand. She knows the knife will not cut the hands around her neck because nothing stops those hands from suffocating her. So as she forgets how to breathe she holds the knife to her wrist as it slices and as she screams. But she screams not for the pain of the knife, for there is none. She screams because she is falling. And she drops the knife in the sink and it is endlessly falling.
The animal is still watching me as she takes a glass in her hand and throws it on the ground. She takes another glass, and a plate and throws them on the ground. The glasses and plates are made of glass and the floor is made of tile and it makes ugly music as the two meet and shatter each other. And she walks away on the glass but her feet can't feel anything because it wasn't really me throwing the glasses and the plates. It was the animal. The screaming, grunting animal who doesn't remember how to blink or stand so she gives in because there is no other choice. And she walks away from the glass and the animal stares at her as she is endlessly falling.
And then the animal howls as she takes the kitchen table in her hands and throws it upside down. And then she takes the coffee table with the other plates and glasses and throws that one upside down too. And she kicks the chairs so that they are upside down and finds another small table to turn upside down. All the while she is thrashing at the demons nobody else can see and trying to grasp the hands around her neck and she is screaming and baring her teeth and can't remember how to blink. And in a last struggle to hold onto something she grabs onto the large white chair and pulls it with her as she hits the floor and goes through the floor and is endlessly falling.
And she sits in a crumpled heap on the floor and her entire body goes numb. It starts at her feet and her fingers that she can't remember how to move and suffocated her entire body. And she forgets how to blink and she forgets how to stand and she forgets how to grunt and scream and howl so she just whimpers. She whimpers for years and years and years as she sits on her thrown in all of her glory. Her glorious shards of glass are on the floor in the kitchen and her glorious tables and chairs are all upside down and her glorious knife is in the kitchen sink stained with her royal blood and they are all surrounding her glorious thrown on the ground in a puddle of tears and whimpers and pain and falling.
Endlessly falling.
When did "I" turn into "she"?
What if you were in a black hole, and you can't speak and you can't breathe and you can't remember past things so all you know is that for all of eternity you will be falling in the black hole where you can't see anything and you can't hear anything and it's just an endless fall for eternity and forever?
I'm trying to fly out of the black hole, but I don't know how and nobody knows when and where I am endlessly falling.
Do not trust me so.
My demons are bigger than you know.
-Beaskie
And I also told you that every time it hits, it hits harder.
I'm in the bathroom. There aren't any lights on and the door is closed. I stare into the vast darkness and feel nothing and everything. The darkness goes and goes and goes and yet it stops right infront of my eyes and hits me like a wall as I fall endlessly into it.
I am in my studio. You've said so many words to me but I don't remember how to hear them. I don't remember how to respond. And then I don't remember how to blink or stand so I fall and you catch me but I'm still endlessly falling.
I lie on the couch and I try to remember how to move my arm and my hand and my finger. Nothing moves. I try to remember how to move my eyes. Nothing moves. I try to remember how to scream for help but sound is non-existant. And you leave because I have become part of the furniture again. And the couch caves in and I am endlessly falling.
I can hear your car start. I remember how to scream. So that's what I do. I scream and grunt and turn into a savage animal. My legs remember how to move so they kick at the demons no one else can see and my arms remember how to move so they try to grasp the hands around my neck. But the hands stay and push me so that I am endlessly falling.
I stand up and walk to the sink and I am still screaming and grunting. I stand infront of the sink looking at the mirror that faces my studio. But I don't remember how to see my studio, so I stare at the reflection of an animal that looks like me. She is grunting and screaming and howling and her mouth is open she is baring her teeth and her hair sticks to her face from the glue of tears and makeup and she has a knife in her hand. She knows the knife will not cut the hands around her neck because nothing stops those hands from suffocating her. So as she forgets how to breathe she holds the knife to her wrist as it slices and as she screams. But she screams not for the pain of the knife, for there is none. She screams because she is falling. And she drops the knife in the sink and it is endlessly falling.
The animal is still watching me as she takes a glass in her hand and throws it on the ground. She takes another glass, and a plate and throws them on the ground. The glasses and plates are made of glass and the floor is made of tile and it makes ugly music as the two meet and shatter each other. And she walks away on the glass but her feet can't feel anything because it wasn't really me throwing the glasses and the plates. It was the animal. The screaming, grunting animal who doesn't remember how to blink or stand so she gives in because there is no other choice. And she walks away from the glass and the animal stares at her as she is endlessly falling.
And then the animal howls as she takes the kitchen table in her hands and throws it upside down. And then she takes the coffee table with the other plates and glasses and throws that one upside down too. And she kicks the chairs so that they are upside down and finds another small table to turn upside down. All the while she is thrashing at the demons nobody else can see and trying to grasp the hands around her neck and she is screaming and baring her teeth and can't remember how to blink. And in a last struggle to hold onto something she grabs onto the large white chair and pulls it with her as she hits the floor and goes through the floor and is endlessly falling.
And she sits in a crumpled heap on the floor and her entire body goes numb. It starts at her feet and her fingers that she can't remember how to move and suffocated her entire body. And she forgets how to blink and she forgets how to stand and she forgets how to grunt and scream and howl so she just whimpers. She whimpers for years and years and years as she sits on her thrown in all of her glory. Her glorious shards of glass are on the floor in the kitchen and her glorious tables and chairs are all upside down and her glorious knife is in the kitchen sink stained with her royal blood and they are all surrounding her glorious thrown on the ground in a puddle of tears and whimpers and pain and falling.
Endlessly falling.
When did "I" turn into "she"?
What if you were in a black hole, and you can't speak and you can't breathe and you can't remember past things so all you know is that for all of eternity you will be falling in the black hole where you can't see anything and you can't hear anything and it's just an endless fall for eternity and forever?
I'm trying to fly out of the black hole, but I don't know how and nobody knows when and where I am endlessly falling.
Do not trust me so.
My demons are bigger than you know.
-Beaskie
Sunday, March 24, 2013
She Sits On The Porch
She sits on the porch.
Her legs bent.
Her feet turned slightly inwards on the step below her.
Her head on her knees.
Her eyes following the birds.
Her toes peeking out of the holes in her socks.
Her fists clenching and unclenching the edge of the step she sits on.
Her hair resting on her shoulders and her back.
Her finger nail polish grown out so you can see the skin through the bottom half of her nail.
Her toes slightly twitching every now and then.
Her chest rising and falling.
Her mouth slightly open.
Her lips slightly chapped.
Her eyes find the tall green grass in front of the house across the street.
Her eyes close.
Her mind takes her to an open field covered in the tall green grass in front of the house across the street.
Her heart beat slows.
Her breath flows more freely.
Her muscles relax.
Her shoulders drop.
Her toes stop twitching.
Her fists stop clenching and unclenching.
Her mouth turns slightly up at the corners.
Her mind feels peace.
Her ears pick up a sound.
Her eyes jolt open.
Her mouth corners drop.
Her shoulders tense again.
Her toes start twitching again.
Her fists start clenching and unclenching again.
Her eyes follow the birds again.
She sits on the porch.
-Beaskie
Her legs bent.
Her feet turned slightly inwards on the step below her.
Her head on her knees.
Her eyes following the birds.
Her toes peeking out of the holes in her socks.
Her fists clenching and unclenching the edge of the step she sits on.
Her hair resting on her shoulders and her back.
Her finger nail polish grown out so you can see the skin through the bottom half of her nail.
Her toes slightly twitching every now and then.
Her chest rising and falling.
Her mouth slightly open.
Her lips slightly chapped.
Her eyes find the tall green grass in front of the house across the street.
Her eyes close.
Her mind takes her to an open field covered in the tall green grass in front of the house across the street.
Her heart beat slows.
Her breath flows more freely.
Her muscles relax.
Her shoulders drop.
Her toes stop twitching.
Her fists stop clenching and unclenching.
Her mouth turns slightly up at the corners.
Her mind feels peace.
Her ears pick up a sound.
Her eyes jolt open.
Her mouth corners drop.
Her shoulders tense again.
Her toes start twitching again.
Her fists start clenching and unclenching again.
Her eyes follow the birds again.
She sits on the porch.
-Beaskie
Life Plans
I just got back from being a Counselor in Training at a two day camp for kids. It was nice to be with people who still thought the world was good.
Who still thought the world was full with magic.
Who still believed in love and trust.
Who still felt pure and simple.
Who were still happy.
There was so much happiness there. Concentrated happy.
I didn't handle it very well.
At first the happiness was superficially contagious. But then it became suffocating.
The contagious happiness felt fake--as happiness always does. At some point, though, it penetrated the wall of fakeness. But instead of then becoming real, it intruded, infiltrated, suffocated me.
The slight hope of the fake happy becoming a real happy was silenced as the hands around my neck gripped tighter.
Flyer told me he loved me.
One night I told him I loved him back. I said that because I thought we were going to have sex and I didn't want to have sex with someone I didn't love.
But we didn't.
A few days later I took it back. I want to love him. I want to love a lot of people. I don't know how.
I have no intention of having sex with him or anyone for a very, very long time. Things started getting sexual between us a few nights, and I think that happened because I felt that he was going to get bored and either leave or push me to do more.
That is not anything near what Flyer would ever do--I know that from my deepest truths--but my instincts force me to act oppositely, due to my only experience with guys and sex being what they were.
All I ever want to do is sleep next to him. If I could do one thing and one thing only for the rest of my life, I would sleep next to him.
I'm not sure if that is beautiful or tragic.
--Beaskie
Who still thought the world was full with magic.
Who still believed in love and trust.
Who still felt pure and simple.
Who were still happy.
There was so much happiness there. Concentrated happy.
I didn't handle it very well.
At first the happiness was superficially contagious. But then it became suffocating.
The contagious happiness felt fake--as happiness always does. At some point, though, it penetrated the wall of fakeness. But instead of then becoming real, it intruded, infiltrated, suffocated me.
The slight hope of the fake happy becoming a real happy was silenced as the hands around my neck gripped tighter.
Flyer told me he loved me.
One night I told him I loved him back. I said that because I thought we were going to have sex and I didn't want to have sex with someone I didn't love.
But we didn't.
A few days later I took it back. I want to love him. I want to love a lot of people. I don't know how.
I have no intention of having sex with him or anyone for a very, very long time. Things started getting sexual between us a few nights, and I think that happened because I felt that he was going to get bored and either leave or push me to do more.
That is not anything near what Flyer would ever do--I know that from my deepest truths--but my instincts force me to act oppositely, due to my only experience with guys and sex being what they were.
All I ever want to do is sleep next to him. If I could do one thing and one thing only for the rest of my life, I would sleep next to him.
I'm not sure if that is beautiful or tragic.
--Beaskie
Monday, March 18, 2013
Roller Coaster
The day is fine. The night is fine. Not perfect, but fine.
Tolerable.
But that doesn't matter.
But that doesn't make a difference.
But it happens anyways.
But it still hit me.
Hard.
Those hands wrap around my neck and I can't breathe. So I don't.
I can't speak, so I don't.
All I can do is look out the window of the car and watch houses go by. Perfect little houses. Watching TV, making dinner, going to bed. They seem happy. I want to fast forward to when I can have a perfect little family that watches TV and makes dinner and goes to bed. Just skip all this crap.
I close my eyes. He drives smoothly and quickly. It feels like I'm on a roller coaster. It feels like I was on a boat and I just lied down.
The numbness starts at my feet and fingertips.
I open my eyes and they sting. The corners of my mouth are irrevocably turned down.
I'm dizzy.
I close my eyes, a drop spills over. The song playing sounds like a theme song in a movie. I wish I lived in a movie. Everything is scripted and planned. And once it's over, I'd just go back to the beginning and do it all over again. Never having to move forward.
He's holding my hand but I'm not holding his.
The numbness has crawled up to my knees and elbows, I feel it starting at the top of my skull.
I get out of the car and go to my own.
I've forgotten how to drive, so I fall asleep, and my body takes control. I drive home without being awake. I saw myself about to turn left, but stop at the last moment as a car whizzed by. I wish I had gone. But my body doesn't listen to my mind.
The numbness has reached my waist, my shoulders, my neck It hurts.
I go inside and shut my door.
The numbness is crawling, creeping, freezing, burning.
I fall into bed.
It has my stomach, my chest. Tears are uncontrollable, as are breathes.
I fall asleep just before the numbness seizes my heart.
I scream in my dream.
-Beaskie
Tolerable.
But that doesn't matter.
But that doesn't make a difference.
But it happens anyways.
But it still hit me.
Hard.
Those hands wrap around my neck and I can't breathe. So I don't.
I can't speak, so I don't.
All I can do is look out the window of the car and watch houses go by. Perfect little houses. Watching TV, making dinner, going to bed. They seem happy. I want to fast forward to when I can have a perfect little family that watches TV and makes dinner and goes to bed. Just skip all this crap.
I close my eyes. He drives smoothly and quickly. It feels like I'm on a roller coaster. It feels like I was on a boat and I just lied down.
The numbness starts at my feet and fingertips.
I open my eyes and they sting. The corners of my mouth are irrevocably turned down.
I'm dizzy.
I close my eyes, a drop spills over. The song playing sounds like a theme song in a movie. I wish I lived in a movie. Everything is scripted and planned. And once it's over, I'd just go back to the beginning and do it all over again. Never having to move forward.
He's holding my hand but I'm not holding his.
The numbness has crawled up to my knees and elbows, I feel it starting at the top of my skull.
I get out of the car and go to my own.
I've forgotten how to drive, so I fall asleep, and my body takes control. I drive home without being awake. I saw myself about to turn left, but stop at the last moment as a car whizzed by. I wish I had gone. But my body doesn't listen to my mind.
The numbness has reached my waist, my shoulders, my neck It hurts.
I go inside and shut my door.
The numbness is crawling, creeping, freezing, burning.
I fall into bed.
It has my stomach, my chest. Tears are uncontrollable, as are breathes.
I fall asleep just before the numbness seizes my heart.
I scream in my dream.
-Beaskie
Cemetery
There is a skinny sand tall tree infront of me.
To my right, there is an even taller and emptier tree.
To my left is a short and fat and full tree.
Behind me is a tall trunk and lots of branches.
Three parrots are on the trunk tree with lots of branches. They squawk to nothingness, claiming their territory.
Three more parrots come and claim the tall tree with lots of branches to be their own. They fight and squawk and chase them around and around.
The original three come back to the tall trunk with branches, with enlarged egos and profound satisfaction. The squawking to nothingness continues.
The finches travel back and forth from the tall skinny tree in front of me and the even taller emptier tree to my right.
One finch whistles a tune, one other whistles one back, slightly lower in pitch, and then the first finch whistles the tune at the original pitch once again.
There is laughter and conversation amongst the audience of finches.
"Encore! Encore!"
The first whistles a different tune in an incredibly high pitch, followed by a slightly lower tune whistled by his partner, and the lowest of tunes whistled by the first.
Chatter erupts, praise and excitement for the symphony.
"Encore! Encore!"
Eventually, after many different tunes and pitches are practiced, the two musicians go back to the very beginning, and play the whole piece nonstop, with perfect pitch and tune throughout.
This excites the audience beyond belief. They give a round of applause, a standing ovation, jump for joy and praise the artists.
Then they return home, satisfied, for they got their money's worth.
My grandma always loved the Nutcracker more than anything.
I'm glad she still gets to listen to it.
-Beaskie
To my right, there is an even taller and emptier tree.
To my left is a short and fat and full tree.
Behind me is a tall trunk and lots of branches.
Three parrots are on the trunk tree with lots of branches. They squawk to nothingness, claiming their territory.
Three more parrots come and claim the tall tree with lots of branches to be their own. They fight and squawk and chase them around and around.
The original three come back to the tall trunk with branches, with enlarged egos and profound satisfaction. The squawking to nothingness continues.
The finches travel back and forth from the tall skinny tree in front of me and the even taller emptier tree to my right.
One finch whistles a tune, one other whistles one back, slightly lower in pitch, and then the first finch whistles the tune at the original pitch once again.
There is laughter and conversation amongst the audience of finches.
"Encore! Encore!"
The first whistles a different tune in an incredibly high pitch, followed by a slightly lower tune whistled by his partner, and the lowest of tunes whistled by the first.
Chatter erupts, praise and excitement for the symphony.
"Encore! Encore!"
Eventually, after many different tunes and pitches are practiced, the two musicians go back to the very beginning, and play the whole piece nonstop, with perfect pitch and tune throughout.
This excites the audience beyond belief. They give a round of applause, a standing ovation, jump for joy and praise the artists.
Then they return home, satisfied, for they got their money's worth.
My grandma always loved the Nutcracker more than anything.
I'm glad she still gets to listen to it.
-Beaskie
Sunday, March 17, 2013
All Of Me
I want you to hold me,
all of me.
I want you to know me,
all of me.
I want you to feel me,
all of me.
I want you to protect me,
all of me.
I want you to kiss me,
all of me.
I want you to love me,
all of me.
I want you to save me,
all of me.
-Beaskie
all of me.
I want you to know me,
all of me.
I want you to feel me,
all of me.
I want you to protect me,
all of me.
I want you to kiss me,
all of me.
I want you to love me,
all of me.
I want you to save me,
all of me.
-Beaskie
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Last Night
Not too fast, not too slow,
around, around, around we go.
Kiss my cheek, hold me tight,
When the time comes, it will be right.
Give me chills, close my eyes,
feel your hands on my thighs.
You breathe out as I breathe in,
hold my hand, make my head spin.
We become our cores, we become ourselves,
when our first instincts overwhelm.
Our bodies control, our minds shut down,
And we go, spinning, around, around.
Your skin is soft, it sticks to me,
You move from love, not jealousy.
Not hate or hurt, not lust or loss,
Could fuel the desire we came across.
We stopped in time, our heartbeats race,
we'll save the rest for another day.
We're comfortable, as we are one,
One person, one heart, one life, one love.
Not too fast, not too slow,
around, around, around we go.
Kiss my cheek, hold me tight,
When the time comes, it will be right.
-Beaskie
around, around, around we go.
Kiss my cheek, hold me tight,
When the time comes, it will be right.
Give me chills, close my eyes,
feel your hands on my thighs.
You breathe out as I breathe in,
hold my hand, make my head spin.
We become our cores, we become ourselves,
when our first instincts overwhelm.
Our bodies control, our minds shut down,
And we go, spinning, around, around.
Your skin is soft, it sticks to me,
You move from love, not jealousy.
Not hate or hurt, not lust or loss,
Could fuel the desire we came across.
We stopped in time, our heartbeats race,
we'll save the rest for another day.
We're comfortable, as we are one,
One person, one heart, one life, one love.
Not too fast, not too slow,
around, around, around we go.
Kiss my cheek, hold me tight,
When the time comes, it will be right.
-Beaskie
Friday, March 15, 2013
Expectations
I expect a push.
I expect a shove.
I expect the forced words, claiming our "love".
I expect tears.
I expect demands.
I expect your wandering, grabby hands.
I expect hate, covered in fake,
expected boys who don't appreciate.
I expect a hit.
I expect a slap.
I expect rape, not a cuddling nap.
I expect hurt.
I expect regret.
I expect fighting the urge to resist.
But you expect love.
You expect care.
You expect me to always be there.
You expect tender.
You expect trust.
You expect making love, not lust.
You expect to listen, you expect conversation.
You would never expect my expected manipulation.
You expect fun.
You expect smiles.
You expect to be deep in love for a while.
You expect comfort.
You expect flowers.
You expect shared silence for hours and hours.
You expect happy, playful, and free.
You expect these expectations from me.
But is it smart,
To expect a heart
From one who had theirs torn apart?
Yes, is it dumb
To put all your love
Into a life that is coming undone?
Or might it spare
The doomed scare
Of having expectations of going no where?
-Beaskie
I expect a shove.
I expect the forced words, claiming our "love".
I expect tears.
I expect demands.
I expect your wandering, grabby hands.
I expect hate, covered in fake,
expected boys who don't appreciate.
I expect a hit.
I expect a slap.
I expect rape, not a cuddling nap.
I expect hurt.
I expect regret.
I expect fighting the urge to resist.
I expect fear, and I expect this crazed
expected depression clouding my days.
But you expect love.
You expect care.
You expect me to always be there.
You expect tender.
You expect trust.
You expect making love, not lust.
You expect to listen, you expect conversation.
You would never expect my expected manipulation.
You expect fun.
You expect smiles.
You expect to be deep in love for a while.
You expect comfort.
You expect flowers.
You expect shared silence for hours and hours.
You expect happy, playful, and free.
You expect these expectations from me.
But is it smart,
To expect a heart
From one who had theirs torn apart?
Yes, is it dumb
To put all your love
Into a life that is coming undone?
Or might it spare
The doomed scare
Of having expectations of going no where?
-Beaskie
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Today
Today was my first day back at school.
I am most obviously not pregnant, so I probably shocked quite a few students.
I was tutored in math and physics and it melted my brain.
I went to young life and threw shaving cream on everyone.
And then he told me.
And that was today.
And today was good.
-Beaskie
I am most obviously not pregnant, so I probably shocked quite a few students.
I was tutored in math and physics and it melted my brain.
I went to young life and threw shaving cream on everyone.
And then he told me.
And that was today.
And today was good.
-Beaskie
Monday, March 11, 2013
Evil Universe
I just started unpacking from my trip to New York.
Two weeks after I got home.
I think I was holding on to the tiniest, slimmest glimmer of hope that I could maybe go back.
Maybe live there.
Maybe never come back.
--
I introduced Flyer to my grandma today.
I still haven't talked about her on here yet... It's so painful. I needed her, and she's not here. I needed her more than anybody else in the world.
I could've lost anybody else in the world except for her.
Maybe that's why I am scared to tell him I love him. That means accepting that I need him. I can't need somebody. That never turns out well.
I go through phases of not talking to him. I think it's because I want to get used to not having him, so when the evil universe decides to take him away from me I'll be okay.
And I will be.
But I'd be a whole lot better if he stayed.
-Beaskie
Two weeks after I got home.
I think I was holding on to the tiniest, slimmest glimmer of hope that I could maybe go back.
Maybe live there.
Maybe never come back.
--
I introduced Flyer to my grandma today.
I still haven't talked about her on here yet... It's so painful. I needed her, and she's not here. I needed her more than anybody else in the world.
I could've lost anybody else in the world except for her.
Maybe that's why I am scared to tell him I love him. That means accepting that I need him. I can't need somebody. That never turns out well.
I go through phases of not talking to him. I think it's because I want to get used to not having him, so when the evil universe decides to take him away from me I'll be okay.
And I will be.
But I'd be a whole lot better if he stayed.
-Beaskie
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Conditions
There is no such thing as forgiveness.
There is no such thing as redemption.
There is no such thing as unconditional love.
Everyone has their conditions, no matter the circumstances.
I guess that's it. I guess my worst nightmare really has come true. I'm alone.
Completely, absolutely, alone.
My friends have turned their backs on me. My family has turned their backs on me.
No one will look at me. No one will accept me. No one will understand me.
No one wants to.
All I have now is myself.
-Beaskie
There is no such thing as redemption.
There is no such thing as unconditional love.
Everyone has their conditions, no matter the circumstances.
I guess that's it. I guess my worst nightmare really has come true. I'm alone.
Completely, absolutely, alone.
My friends have turned their backs on me. My family has turned their backs on me.
No one will look at me. No one will accept me. No one will understand me.
No one wants to.
All I have now is myself.
-Beaskie
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Spinning
The center of the world is on fire.
Nothing is clear. Nothing is right or wrong. Nothing is up or down. It's all red around me. All I see is red. I hear crackling. I feel heat.
But the fire doesn't burn. Burn is feeling, of which I have none. Burn is a connection with surroundings.
I have no such connections.
I am at the center of the world.
Everyone keeps moving. Everyone keeps talking. Everyone keeps planning futures. Everyone keeps doing things.
I can't move. I can't talk. I can't plan a future. I can't do things.
I'm stuck.
And everyone keeps moving.
And the outside of the world spins and spins and spins.
But the center of the world is still.
And the center of the world is on fire.
And I am at the center of the world.
-Beaskie
Nothing is clear. Nothing is right or wrong. Nothing is up or down. It's all red around me. All I see is red. I hear crackling. I feel heat.
But the fire doesn't burn. Burn is feeling, of which I have none. Burn is a connection with surroundings.
I have no such connections.
I am at the center of the world.
Everyone keeps moving. Everyone keeps talking. Everyone keeps planning futures. Everyone keeps doing things.
I can't move. I can't talk. I can't plan a future. I can't do things.
I'm stuck.
And everyone keeps moving.
And the outside of the world spins and spins and spins.
But the center of the world is still.
And the center of the world is on fire.
And I am at the center of the world.
-Beaskie
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
I hold you tightly.
I hold you tightly because I'm scared.
Scared of what might happen to me if I let go.
I hold you tightly because I'm tired.
Tired of holding myself, and glad so have someone else do the job.
I hold you tightly because I'm pulled to you.
Pulled to you by some unknown gravity.
I hold you tightly because I'm weak.
Too weak to breathe, too weak to sleep.
I hold you tightly because I can.
I never have the energy to do anything else but that.
I hold you tightly because I'm falling.
And I cling to you, as you are my last hope.
-Beaskie
All The World's A Stage
I feel so fake.
Fake like plastic.
Fake like make-believe.
Fake like promises no one can keep.
I smile and laugh and converse and socialize and am fake.
I listen and talk and nod my head and am fake.
I text people happy faces and write "lol" and am fake.
I hug people and tell them I missed them and am fake.
I am fake.
It makes the fall so much worse. Maybe I feel like negative five two days in a row. The first day I act like I'm a positive three, and at the end of the day, I only fall eight, so negative five doesn't feel too bad. But the next day I act like a positive fifteen. Then I end up falling twenty, and suddenly negative five feels like hell.
I fell a lot today. I'm tired of being fake.
I do it because it seems to be what people expect of me. My friends expect me to be okay, so "I am okay". My family expects me to be okay, so "I am okay". Even if they don't expect it, they want it. So why not give them what they want?
Oh, I know why not. It makes me fall twenty. That's a long way down.
And a long way down means an even longer way up.
-Beaskie
Fake like plastic.
Fake like make-believe.
Fake like promises no one can keep.
I smile and laugh and converse and socialize and am fake.
I listen and talk and nod my head and am fake.
I text people happy faces and write "lol" and am fake.
I hug people and tell them I missed them and am fake.
I am fake.
It makes the fall so much worse. Maybe I feel like negative five two days in a row. The first day I act like I'm a positive three, and at the end of the day, I only fall eight, so negative five doesn't feel too bad. But the next day I act like a positive fifteen. Then I end up falling twenty, and suddenly negative five feels like hell.
I fell a lot today. I'm tired of being fake.
I do it because it seems to be what people expect of me. My friends expect me to be okay, so "I am okay". My family expects me to be okay, so "I am okay". Even if they don't expect it, they want it. So why not give them what they want?
Oh, I know why not. It makes me fall twenty. That's a long way down.
And a long way down means an even longer way up.
-Beaskie
Quirks
Parking next to a car with people in it makes me nervous.
The smell of the air freshener in my car makes me smile.
Speed bumps make me laugh.
Homeless people make me cry.
Sunflowers make me cry happy tears.
People talking really fast in another language makes me giggle.
Fruit makes me feel good.
Cookie dough makes me feel good.
Art of all mediums that really speaks to me makes me squint.
Raw meat makes me dizzy.
Stupid words like fact make me angry.
...Who puts a c next to a t?
Wearing high heels makes me feel pretty.
Hearing the click of my high heels makes me feel sophisticated.
Walking on my heels in high heels makes me feel like a little kid.
Fighting with friends makes me want to throw up.
Laughing with friends makes me feel free.
Wearing big rings makes me feel rich.
Wearing my old beaten up converse makes me feel poor.
Opening my front door makes me feel content.
Painting my nails makes me feel fresh.
Shaving my legs makes me feel fresher.
Cuddling in bed makes me feel wanted.
Dancing makes me feel complete.
When I feel bad I buy sunflowers and put them on peoples doorsteps.
-Beaskie
The smell of the air freshener in my car makes me smile.
Speed bumps make me laugh.
Homeless people make me cry.
Sunflowers make me cry happy tears.
People talking really fast in another language makes me giggle.
Fruit makes me feel good.
Cookie dough makes me feel good.
Art of all mediums that really speaks to me makes me squint.
Raw meat makes me dizzy.
Stupid words like fact make me angry.
...Who puts a c next to a t?
Wearing high heels makes me feel pretty.
Hearing the click of my high heels makes me feel sophisticated.
Walking on my heels in high heels makes me feel like a little kid.
Fighting with friends makes me want to throw up.
Laughing with friends makes me feel free.
Wearing big rings makes me feel rich.
Wearing my old beaten up converse makes me feel poor.
Opening my front door makes me feel content.
Painting my nails makes me feel fresh.
Shaving my legs makes me feel fresher.
Cuddling in bed makes me feel wanted.
Dancing makes me feel complete.
When I feel bad I buy sunflowers and put them on peoples doorsteps.
-Beaskie
Sounds
The world is silent.
There is the sound of cars passing on streets below.
There is the sound of tree branches groaning with protest to movement.
There is the sound of the wind slapping against the walls of my house, and knocking on my door after it has passed through my window.
There is the sound of Lucy breathing next to me.
Lucy is my dog.
There is the sound of your hand reaching to find my hip, and finding its way around me.
There is the sound of my turning to face you.
There is the sound of me inhaling the rustic, smooth, familiar scent of you, and exhaling in time with my closing eyes.
There is the sound of us simultaneously falling asleep.
There is the sound of us.
And the world is silent.
And the world is perfect.
-Beaskie
There is the sound of cars passing on streets below.
There is the sound of tree branches groaning with protest to movement.
There is the sound of the wind slapping against the walls of my house, and knocking on my door after it has passed through my window.
There is the sound of Lucy breathing next to me.
Lucy is my dog.
There is the sound of your hand reaching to find my hip, and finding its way around me.
There is the sound of my turning to face you.
There is the sound of me inhaling the rustic, smooth, familiar scent of you, and exhaling in time with my closing eyes.
There is the sound of us simultaneously falling asleep.
There is the sound of us.
And the world is silent.
And the world is perfect.
-Beaskie
Monday, March 4, 2013
The Cycle
It's 6 am now. I still can't sleep.
The boy would come around 1 or 2, sometimes later. He would text me with "I'm here", and I'd go to the door. At first, it was exciting, exhilarating. It was the first time I had ever done something without my parents knowing. But as time went on, and the sneaking in happened three or four times a week, the excitement left, and dread set in. He wouldn't say a word once I opened the door, just walk past me, sometimes grabbing my hand, sometimes pretending like he couldn't see me. He'd walk into my room, rip my clothes off, and have at it until he was too tired to continue. Then he'd pass out as I got dressed, folded his clothes, and cleaned up the mess he left. I'd crawl back into bed next to him and try to cuddle--lay my head on his chest, kiss his neck--anything for just a little attention.
That's all I ever really wanted from him, some attention.
I was so obsessed with him, I wanted him to love me more than anything in the world. I wanted to take care of him, to show him that the world can be kind, even while I knew he took away that same kindness from my world.
When I tried to get his attention and get close to him, he would turn away from me. I would put my arm around him and kiss his back, and he would shrug me off.
I felt rejected, betrayed, hurt. I reminded him that he promised this would be the time he held me after, and he'd mumble "Next time, I promise". I'd turn away and cry silently until he left a few minutes later. It'd be around 4 or 4:30 by that time, and I tried to get some sleep before I had to wake up for school at 5:15. I'd go to school exhausted and upset. He'd text me once he woke up with something nasty, implying I had slept with other men. I'd promptly spend the rest of the day convincing him that it wasn't true, that he was the only one for me.
This cycle continued for months and months. It was exhausting, wretched, disgusting, manipulative, and so, so addicting.
It used to be my reality.
Sometimes it still feels like it still is.
-Beaskie
The boy would come around 1 or 2, sometimes later. He would text me with "I'm here", and I'd go to the door. At first, it was exciting, exhilarating. It was the first time I had ever done something without my parents knowing. But as time went on, and the sneaking in happened three or four times a week, the excitement left, and dread set in. He wouldn't say a word once I opened the door, just walk past me, sometimes grabbing my hand, sometimes pretending like he couldn't see me. He'd walk into my room, rip my clothes off, and have at it until he was too tired to continue. Then he'd pass out as I got dressed, folded his clothes, and cleaned up the mess he left. I'd crawl back into bed next to him and try to cuddle--lay my head on his chest, kiss his neck--anything for just a little attention.
That's all I ever really wanted from him, some attention.
I was so obsessed with him, I wanted him to love me more than anything in the world. I wanted to take care of him, to show him that the world can be kind, even while I knew he took away that same kindness from my world.
When I tried to get his attention and get close to him, he would turn away from me. I would put my arm around him and kiss his back, and he would shrug me off.
I felt rejected, betrayed, hurt. I reminded him that he promised this would be the time he held me after, and he'd mumble "Next time, I promise". I'd turn away and cry silently until he left a few minutes later. It'd be around 4 or 4:30 by that time, and I tried to get some sleep before I had to wake up for school at 5:15. I'd go to school exhausted and upset. He'd text me once he woke up with something nasty, implying I had slept with other men. I'd promptly spend the rest of the day convincing him that it wasn't true, that he was the only one for me.
This cycle continued for months and months. It was exhausting, wretched, disgusting, manipulative, and so, so addicting.
It used to be my reality.
Sometimes it still feels like it still is.
-Beaskie
Zzzzzzz
It's 3:34 am and I can't sleep.
This is strange for me, normally I can always sleep. When I had a crappy day--as most days are--I can come home and instantly fall asleep, whether it be 8 or midnight. It's kind of a defense mechanism. When I'm asleep, I don't have to think about reality, or face it. And I experience those few moments of happiness right when I wake up, before I remember that my life isn't what I used to wake up to.
But now, I'm wide awake.
I'm exhausted, but wide awake.
Maybe it's because of my new medication.
Maybe it's because Flyer isn't here.
Maybe it's because there's some deep psychological problem troubling my unconscious mind that I have yet to discover.
Or maybe, it's just because I can't sleep.
-Beaskie
This is strange for me, normally I can always sleep. When I had a crappy day--as most days are--I can come home and instantly fall asleep, whether it be 8 or midnight. It's kind of a defense mechanism. When I'm asleep, I don't have to think about reality, or face it. And I experience those few moments of happiness right when I wake up, before I remember that my life isn't what I used to wake up to.
But now, I'm wide awake.
I'm exhausted, but wide awake.
Maybe it's because of my new medication.
Maybe it's because Flyer isn't here.
Maybe it's because there's some deep psychological problem troubling my unconscious mind that I have yet to discover.
Or maybe, it's just because I can't sleep.
-Beaskie
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Acceptance
It's so hard for me to accept what I am. And accept what's happened to me. I don't want to accept it, accepting it means it's real. I don't want it to be real. It can't be real.
This can't be real.
My friends don't accept me for who I am, why should I?
Flyer came back into my life after the boy left. He's the only person I know who can say that. All of my friends and family were there with me while it happened.
Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful for that, but sometimes it's nice to be with Flyer because I can pretend like none of this is real.
Because, really, this can't be real.
I've considered coming clean to the world.
Or at least my school.
Maybe I can give a talk on abusive relationships. Or depression. I'm so sure that there are countless people experiencing one or both at my school.
It's so horribly common.
But that would mean accepting that this has actually happened. That this is actually real.
And this can't be real.
-Beaskie
This can't be real.
My friends don't accept me for who I am, why should I?
Flyer came back into my life after the boy left. He's the only person I know who can say that. All of my friends and family were there with me while it happened.
Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful for that, but sometimes it's nice to be with Flyer because I can pretend like none of this is real.
Because, really, this can't be real.
I've considered coming clean to the world.
Or at least my school.
Maybe I can give a talk on abusive relationships. Or depression. I'm so sure that there are countless people experiencing one or both at my school.
It's so horribly common.
But that would mean accepting that this has actually happened. That this is actually real.
And this can't be real.
-Beaskie
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Fri end
My friends have the best of intentions. They love me and care for me and want me to get better.
However, when they each individually tell me that I'm a stranger to them, that they don't know me, and that they aren't even sure if they can be friends with me anymore, I start to forget their good intentions and feel even more hurt and pain caused by them.
I used to understand everything that went on in their life. And they used to understand everything that went on in my life. Yet suddenly, we are on two different planets.
In different universes.
In different galaxies.
In different planes of time.
I miss them. I'm scared that we will never be what we once were.
Actually, I'm terrified.
Remember the one night stand I had with Flyer's best friend? The huge mistake I made that just seems to keep biting me in the ass? Well apparently students at my high school have decided that the reason I'm not at school is that I am pregnant with his child.
High school is ridiculous.
-Beaskie
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