published and hospitalized

One of my blog posts was published on The Mighty. That’s exciting for me. I’m also going acute inpatient for suicidal urges and self harming. I am going in today.  I’ll be back soon.  I’m sure I’ll do some writing while I’m there, so maybe I’ll return with a masterpiece lol!   Advertisements

paper

The wreckage of her soul is poetic.  Her verses cascade from her eyes in iambic pentameter. Her survival is a fiery resilience, that engulfs her parchment; each page set aflame  and extinguished in her storm. There is beauty in how she rises from her ruins, in the midst of her own destruction.

i am responsible for my own haunting

On days like this, I am the house and the ghost, responsible for my own haunting. My brain is a revolver with, “Am I good enough?” in every chamber. So I turn into a factory that only makes the word “yes” and I say it until I can easily Mistake it for the truth, but […]

souvenirs

This shroud of unwrinkled sheets conveys critical calamity. A desolate bed is telling.  I’m sorry I have become unbearable.  I am distant, detached, and disassociating.  My internal agony annihilates again.  I was vulnerable and he was vindicated.  He left me souvenirs of sorrow and suffering.  They emerge, engulfing my fortitude. I take flight to alleviate […]

crimson liberation

The urge is potent.   It is more than an urge; it is a hunger. It is a voracious hunger to end the great famine. It is a craving to feel the icy blade skate across the skin.  It is a desire to feel the sting as it penetrates the largest organ of the human […]

oceanic magnificence

Envision the ocean. Above this oceanic magnificence is a soaring, glorious, stunning wave; gliding gracefully over the surface of the sea.  In a decisive haste beneath the wave, all life swims frenetically in the direction contrary to the wave’s course. The wave is blithe and liberated. The wave is in command of its path. There […]

cab

You pulse through my veins. Icy, as you trek the lines your fingers once graced. Left behind is the chill of the memory of your touch. Aching is the hollow amid my breasts; aching for you. Left behind is the heart you shattered. You fucking broke every inch of my being. You walked away, never […]