The Price of Independence

I have neglected myself for too long.
It is obvious in the way I move,
And it is blatantly apparent in the way I disapprove of everything I do.
This job has been breaking me down and driving me insane,
Yet it is the one thing that I am able to claim I am making my own.
My home is not my own and my space is not respected,
Because assistance is nothing that I ever expected,
From those who surround me or the people who live off of me,
Because giving is something that appears to come naturally,
At my own detriment and my own regret,
For not claiming the things that I need to finally rest this head.
I refuse to speak up and ask for what I need,
Because for some reason in my head it is cast as greed,
I feel guilt for escaping into retreat,
And disappointment in myself for not being able to stay strong,
To prove myself to it is worth holding on.
I desperately seek support that might provide me peace,
And a voice that is stronger than mine to provide me with confidence,
Drowning out all that I remiss and finding something better to replace it with,
Telling me that I am strong and worthwhile,
And that I could solve any of my issues with a simple smile,
An intake of breath and acceptance of a gentle caress,
In an effort of support and a desire to be my cohort.
But I deny that I might have this type of friend,
Because my struggle is something I am proud of in the end,
And for some reason I want to be able to claim that I never had a friend,
Who could take my glory and be an influence in my story,
Who was the thing that I needed to make this mend.
I want to claim that I did it all on my own,
But I want even more to never feel this alone.

I Can’t & I Won’t

I can’t stop the yellowing of my fingers as much as I can’t stop the pessimism of my feelings.
I won’t accept that it is within my control to change and I will continue on with this feeling of being deranged.
Because sanity does not feel like something that is within my range to obtain.

I wake up and try optimism,
Just to sit down and be crushed by claustrophobia,
Caused by this desire for escapism,
And encouraged by my own phobia,
That this life could mean so much more,
If only I step up to allow it to…

But the strength it takes makes me weak,
And the persistence it requires makes me drag my feet,
As I seek to compete with the very image that provides my defeat —
An image of a woman who is strong and is in for the long haul,
Dedicated to a purpose and driven by nothing less,
With enough intelligence to know when to call it quits,
And accept that this life is what I make it.

But I don’t want to accept the progress,
And I hesitate to not applaud where I digressed,
In order to take the path that shouldn’t be traveled,
And dive into the thoughts that should not be harbored,
Because there is something in me that does not want to be free,
And there is something encouraging me to deny this ability.

I can’t stop this lack of motivation as much as I can’t deny my distraction.
I won’t accept this choice and I will continue to deny the sound of my own voice.
Because it is too much to bear and the disappointment I find in myself is leading to despair.

I go to sleep with a head full of pessimism,
Not allowing my thoughts to be a friend,
Encouraging everything to bring me down with the best of them,
And pouring my feeling of frustration out of this pen —

Because I never seem to change,
And I no longer claim it to be a mistake.
Since it is obvious that I chose to be estranged,
And this is what I was willing to take.

I accepted my defeat years ago,
And came to see that I am incomplete,
As long as there are secrets that I insist on keeping,
There are struggles that I continue reaping,
And thoughts that will prevent me from sleeping.

I can’t stop,
And I won’t accept,
Because this life is too much to expect.

I Can’t Continue Doing This Alone

Maybe I need a dog.
Maybe I need a boyfriend.
Maybe I need a friend who will just hold my hand.

Because I have been losing my shit,
And I have become complacent about it,
To the point where I cannot begin to explain it.

I wake up every day and do what I have to do to get by,
Serving the single purpose of avoiding the chance to die,
And having this overwhelming feeling to breakdown and cry.

Not because I think my life is a waste,
Since I would be dead already if that were the case,
But because I am frustrated with this place.

I am frustrated that I can’t seem to stop smoking,
And I hate that a hobby of mine is toking,
That is pushed to the point where I have become broken.

I can’t seem to function without the release,
I find in the secrets that I consistently keep,
Hiding the fact that I am struggling and preventing me from taking a leap.

Because I have faith in my abilities,
And I have confidence in my reality,
That I have the power to change everything about me.

But the real question is —
Do I want to change this?
Or am I satisfied with my shit?

Is this life something to complain about?
Or something that motivates me to shout out?
And claim everything to which I am devote?

Because this struggle has made me who I am,
And I have never allowed anyone to hold my hand,
Since growth is something only I can accomplish in the end.

Which leaves me to question,
The complaints that I purge with this pen,
And the manner in which I approach this life again.

Do I need someone to hold my hand?
Or can I do this independently that way I always have?
And why do I feel shame in admitting that I can?

Why do I feel pressure to have a life that is “complete”?
And why can I not deny this secret that I keep?
How can I suppress this thought that does not allow me to sleep?

That I am missing a piece of this life,
And that that piece could lessen my strife,
If I only allowed myself to be open to my own advice.

If only I stop fighting this change,
And stop feeling like I am deranged,
In order to accept that I am struggling through this pain.

And the one thing that might help,
Would be if I removed myself from the isolation shelf,
And accept that I desperately want someone other than me to support myself.

Phases Of Me

I used to be fun when I was concerned about no one.
I used to be cool when I acted like a fool.
I used to be hot with a drug induced gaunt.
And I used to think that my acts of detriment were something to flaunt.

I could have cared less about consequences,
And I always operated on the defensive.
I was prone to promiscuity,
And I was drawn to pessimistic personalities.
I embraced a lack of control,
And I thought there was nothing that I could not endure.

But it was the foolishness of my youth,
And the denial I held as truth,
That led me to live life that way,
And keep all my emotions at bay.
Because I was numb,
And doing anything to escape the release of a gun,
Pointed at my brain,
To stop the pressure of feeling insane.
Because I could not bear what life had thrown at me,
And I was struggling more than I was able to see,
Through my drug induced haze
And this part of life that I thought was just a phase,
Until it became a piece of who I am,
And I began to no longer recognize my own hand —
That instinctively reached for a bottle,
And brushed off any attempts to be coddled,
So that I could struggle through this alone,
And never find a place I could call home.
Because nothing can replace that sacred place,
And nothing can be what I used to see,
Life has changed permanently,
And I am in too much denial to let that be.
So I drank away my thoughts,
And I pushed aside my regrets,
Until there was nothing left but my confusion,
About how I got here,
And how I lost track of everything I used to hold dear.

I used to be driven and took nothing forgiven.
I used to have hope when I looked at the full scope.
I used to be lost in a desire to explore my own thoughts.
And I used to think that by this day I would be living my life with love and not dismay.

Choosing A Life Of Struggle

Some days I wonder about the life I could have had.
I wonder if it would have held less struggle and less trouble.
Some days I wonder about the choices I have made.
I ponder if they were actually all for the better,
When I felt like I was cornered by the worse.
I remember the feeling to vividly —
So desperate and helpless,
So consumed by my own thoughts that I was hopeless,
For any hint of change,
Or any inkling that I am not deranged.
I would stare at myself for hours,
Yet always see a lack of power,
Replaced by a state of exhaustion,
Which made me realize that I am nothing more than human.
I knew that it was within my power to change,
But I would always wake to a feeling of pain,
One that ran deep and disrupted my attempts at sleep,
So that I was never satisfied,
And I was tortured by the secrets that I keep —
That I am alright with being a lazy piece of shit,
And I strive to become complacent.
That I smoke every day,
In an effort to keep my emotions at bay.
That I am satisfied with an existence that is mundane,
Because it is something that is easy to sustain.
And I am tired of putting forth an effort,
Exhausted by my lack of cohorts,
Disappointed by my slow train of progress,
And notice that often I digress,
To avoid the truth that is staring me so blankly in the face,
And recognize that this is the case.
Because it is days like today that I cannot avoid,
When I wake up and am left feeling devoid,
Of any motivation to continue,
And an overwhelming confusion about what I have been through.
It is mornings like this that I begin to remiss,
About the life I began with such hope and promise,
And the choices I made that led me away from this.
I reflect deeply on the life I could have made,
If I allowed myself to wander that way.
I could have had a steady boyfriend,
And I could have held down a six-figure job,
I could have my own dog,
And I could have become satisfied with a stable reality,
I could have nothing left to complain about but me.
Because I am the reason that I am left unsatisfied,
And I am my own source of torture that makes me cry.
I am the only one who felt like they were dying inside,
As I attempted to live a life that was normalized.

Sedentary Change

I am afraid of this moment —
When my pen hits the paper and I except words to flow out of me.
I am afraid that I won’t be able to follow through,
And I am afraid that I have nothing to offer of value.
I am worried that I will become distracted,
And that my words will not actually sink in.
Because I can’t seem to focus these days,
And I can’t seem to care about anything I pick up.
I want to want progress,
And I need to need busyness,
But is it really all serving me in the end?
This transformation process is frustrating and tedious,
And I am losing motivation to put my best foot forward.
I am losing faith that I have the strength to continue,
And I am becoming exhausted by my never ending task list.
I wake up every day and I am confused as to how I got here,
And I know that that confusion will only grow.
Because I know that this struggle is far from over.
And I know that there is no place for me to seek cover.
This is the path I am always destined to walk down.
I will always be looking for more.
And that is something I will never be able to ignore.
But I can feel that this struggle is real,
And it is challenging everything I thought I held dear.
It is making me question my place,
And leading me to hate my own face,
Because it is no longer one that I recognize,
And its look of confusion is leading me to despise,
All the thoughts that I could actually rise,
Above it all and never fall back,
To the place I regret ever being at all,
and the depths to which I know how to fall.
Because I despise that side of weakness,
And I am ashamed of this overwhelming sense of bleakness,
When I have so much opportunity placed in front of me,
And I refuse to be what it needs me to be.
Because I am weak and I am human,
And I’d rather die in this self-imposed gloom,
Then try to see the light in my escape,
And have faith in the moving on to a new place.
So today I am afraid of my pen,
But tomorrow will only repeat itself again,
If I continue to refuse to be open,
And accept that change is not an act of being broken,
But instead an opportunity to become outspoken,
A chance to change the person I am,
And a chance to begin again.
But I am afraid of that hope,
And I am afraid that this chance,
Will disappear as quickly and unexpectedly as it came,
And I will be left with nothing to retain,
Putting myself back at square one,
And wondering if this transformation is something that ever even begun.

Am I Worth Having & Holding?

Yesterday I texted my crush,
And this morning I woke up crushed,
Because I never received a reply,
And the rejection was too overwhelming to deny,
I never thought that I was not something to be desired,
So rejection was something I did not considered.
My perplextion ran deep as I laid my head down to sleep,
Wondering if I was even desirable,
Or instead something to keep at a distance,
Someone who provided too much resistance,
As a woman who can not be claimed,
And a spirit that cannot be tamed.
So instead I will be swallowed up by my own flames,
In a burning pile of frustration and shame,
Never allowing myself to be claimed,
And never seeking the appropriate kind of fame,
The kind in which I am known as a goddess,
And the kind of woman who will accept nothing less.
But this morning I question my ability to receive,
The kind of love and attention that I so obviously need.
Is there really someone out there for me?
Or is lonely the state I am destined to be?
I wonder why I even put myself out there to be rejected,
And why I did not just become a shut-in,
Safe from the world and its interactions,
Guarded by my own destruction.
I wonder why I even continue on with playing this game,
And if the attachment I am seeking is in vain,
Because every man who gets to know me discovers that I am insane.
Maybe I am more trouble than I am worth,
And maybe I was never meant to walk this earth,
Hand in hand with a loving man,
Maybe I am destined to be alone,
Day by day with nothing left to say,
Or even a willingness to complain,
About the state that I got myself into,
And all the options I refused to choose.
Because I can only blame myself,
And it has nothing to do with the men I pursue,
And everything to do with the way I presume,
That I am too good to be touched,
And I am too free to be tied down,
This life is too short to be wasted,
And I refuse to be complacent.
I could be attached if I wanted to,
But that is something I can not yet choose,
Because I wasn’t looking and I wasn’t searching,
And I did not think that it was worth learning,
How to please a variety of men,
And hope that eventually one might take me in,
To call me his own and raise me like a pet,
So that I can claim I am something worth being kept.

“The End”

I am tired of repeating the same questions over again,
And I am growing tired with my relationship with this pen,
It doesn’t allow me to sleep and it doesn’t allow me to escape,
Instead it only digs me further into this state,
A place of denial and a place of trial,
Appearing to be on loop for me no matter how hard I try,
Encouraging me to resonate with this feeling of unrest from which I try to hide.
I have paired my pen with actions of detriment,
And I stay simultaneously stay stoned for the cause of my petulance.
I can’t seem to shake this sense of denial,
And I wake to a unshakable feeling of desire,
To be someone else completely,
And forget the place that I have chosen to be,
Because I am no longer satisfied with just being me,
And that is plain enough for anyone to see —
Except for me.
Because I keep my life on an infinite loop,
Of frustration and contradiction and I always seem to dig my heels in,
And resist this change and refute my progress,
So that I am left with nothing but a desire to have less,
Less of a mind and less of a conscious,
Less of a feeling that life is something I’ve missed,
Less of a guilt that I could do more with my life,
Less of a focus on nothing less than strife.
I want to struggle and I want to complain,
And I want to do it all in vain,
Because all I seem to want to brag about is my inability to relate to this life that was handed to me,
And the reflection in the mirror that I continue to see.
I never truly want to be satisfied,
And the escape that I am truly seeking is to die,
To find the release that I have been looking for,
And finally be able to turn around and close the door,
To this life that has brought so much struggle,
And the way it continues to pull me through the muddle.
I am seeking an end,
And I am craving a friend,
And it only continues to become more apparent the longer I wield this pen.

A Beautiful Disaster

Fuck you, you beautiful disaster.
And fuck this already played out tragedy.
Fuck —
You make my heart break every time I see you.
This is something that is never meant to be,
But you are the only face that I ever crave to see.
You are the person I want to claim as my own,
And you are the man who’s arm I strive to be on.
I want to show you off,
Because you make me shine when I am with you,
But that was never really the issue.
You are my nemesis,
Yet also the only face I crave to kiss.
You are the source of the frustration that only builds,
And the torture it is putting me through kills,
Making me wonder if you are even worth this thrill,
And the feeling of being light as air.
I wonder how I built this addiction to your sense of being,
And I ponder how you so easily have me keyed in.
But I know the answer I am seeking because it is so plain to see,
That I am in awe of your wild ways,
And I could get lost in you for days,
With no end in sight,
Until we reach an inevitable fight.
Because we cannot avoid our true natures forever,
And one day we will look up and realize that this is all just a beautiful disaster,
Destined to be a life long struggle —
Because you will never change and I will never concede,
And neither one of us will ever be what the other truly needs.
Because we can’t, and we refuse to be, anything but easy.
But that is what makes me pursue this disaster all the same.
You are my shitty safe space,
And the dream that I never thought I would actually face.
I am the one who said no,
And the reminder of the hold you are attempting to let go.
Despite us being so beautiful together,
And despite your keen blue eyes and the shameless tattoos that cover your thighs,
In spite of the way you make me ache,
And in spite of this feeling that I cannot seem to shake,
I know and you know,
There is just one way for this to go —
Down the path of desire and across the fields of undeniable fire,
Spinning and turning and losing control,
Until we manifest this beautiful landscape of disaster.

Move Fast

I try to keep up, but I always seem to be falling behind my own life. I try to live in the moment, but there is something in me that will not allow it completely. I try to be excited about my accomplishments, but there is something in me that will not accept full credit for my actions. I wish that I could brag about what I have done and where I have been. I wish that I was the type of person who accepted more credit than they should receive and I want to boast about what I have experienced. I wish that I had a list of defense for when I am hypercritical and I need to remind myself that I have done much with my young life already. I wish that I could stand confidently in the knowledge of who I am and where I want to go.

Continue reading