[x]

You don't just die.Do you understand?
The blade against your wrist
Doesn't just slice your skin.
It cuts through others
Hearts
Souls
And sanity.

Do you understand?
You don't just kill yourself.
You kill everyone.
Everyone dies
Everyone cries
Everyone suffers
From YOUR goodbyes.

Do you understand?
You don't just die.
You take everyone down
With you.

I wish...I wish I was a monster
So I could be kind
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I was colored
So I could respect people
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I was a man
So I could be kind to women
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I had male friends
So we could all be..
Just friends
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I had autism
So I could prove that autism,
Does NOT mean "dumb".
And I could break the stereotypes.

I wish I could change the world.
But sometimes, you can't break a stereotype.

Only stereotypes, can break you.

Graduation DayGraduation Day:

They told us we would be alright...

We had fought with honour and won our titles.

We had overcome trials together -

Watching dozens of our siblings fall in the line of duty.

For this they had promised us, a wondrous welcome;

A bountiful world of adventure, with a myriad of paths.

All this, they said, awaited us in the stone cities.

Large metropolises, where the working folk resided...

There were hundreds of us, who made that journey.

Walking miles across the scorching desert,

Clinging to a hope of the fortunes beyond.

Yet what awaited us was not a promised land -

Nor was it a life based on the merit we had earned.

Lingerhow can i move forward,
when the fingerprints of my insecurities
are still lingering within my chest,
pressing against my ribs like piano keys?
i am just waiting, for the day,
when the saddest parts of me
are overcome with songs of serenity.

Pretty Blue PillsPretty blue pills,
shiny in my palm,
the ticket to my peace,
to my eternal calm.

They're so perfectly round,
and soon they'll be in me.
The closest to perfect
that I'll ever be.

They go down so smooth.
Five, ten, fifteen and twenty.
Soon I'll be gone.
Twenty-five and Thirty.

That should be enough,
but I'll play it safe.
Thirty-five and forty.
Now I have no more to take.

The bottle is empty,
as empty as I feel.
None of this is happening,
too good to be real.

But soon I start to drift
into a dark unknown fog.
Somewhere quite distantly.
I hear a muffled sob.

But I blow it off as fake.
Nobody could possibly care.
I doubt anyone's noticed
th

PhantomWhen life
or fate
or whatever it is
that puts things together
and takes them apart...
when It
amputated you,
it left me
with a phantom
limb
and you are still attached
to my body
when I dance
and make love
alone

ten ways this breakup isn't meant for the movies1.
you go out for twelve eggs and come back
with half a dozen and a new girlfriend.
you hold the eggs out to me like
six dead birds is enough of a peace offering.

2.
i push the eggs out of your hand and stay
with my hand over your heart as i watch them
fall. if they do not hit the ground, this is all a dream.

3.
the eggs smash on the tile and splatter
on the cherry wood cabinets, newly installed
that cost me two paychecks.

3.
the egg whites hit your leather shoes that
you’ve worn for two months straight
because you think they make you look more sophisticated.

3.
the egg whites hit the fridge halfway up, barely touching
the moose mag

Dear friend,You have to understand, dear
The reason to why I run.
I run away from reality
From the lungs that cannot
Take anymore smoke
From the heart that threatens to
Stop...
I run away because
I'm a coward
Because I'm afraid of life
Afraid to care or love.
I'm afraid that every time
I'm glad it blows up in my face
And that every time I smile
I shed a million more tears.
That's why I run, dear
You have to understand.
I was destined to be a fighter but
I don't want to fight anymore.
I was destined to be a warrior
But how am I supposed to win when
The war I fight is against life itself?
I know that I always blow everything up but-
I keep stepping on mines, dear...
...I keep stepping on mines...

ellipsisshe goes to sleep
clawing at her chest with pinpoint accuracy
for an emptiness she can’t describe,
but hates all the same. tomorrow

she will write a letter: “dear boy,
i always wanted to be somebody’s
flowery poem, but the verses carved in my arms
are riddled with ugly clichés. & you are why

i don’t sleep through the night. if
we were a language, i was the
subordinating conjunction, you were

the punctuation.

i remember you in staccato
conclusions, solemn absences
of goodbye”

brain squealsI beat depressions in the earth
for my brain squeals and waves
that burst in my wet ears
until something makes me drown.
I will. (again) V.

Virginia,

put rocks in pockets
and walk right in --
I'll drink your overcoat
until your throat weeps
and your soaked hair
weighs you down.

I promise.

with love,
Ouse.

P.S.
brain squeals are from cold sweats
sleep well.

TearsI am not afraid to cry.

I am not afraid for you to see the tears

My tears.

Don’t tell me I have no heart.

Don’t tell me I have no soul.

For without them I could not cry.

You may not see my tears but they are there.

I have learned to let myself cry for the things I’ve loved,

For the things I’ve lost.

They are silent tears, but they are mine.

So let me cry.

Let me show you I have a heart.

Let the things that touch my heart be shown through my tears.

I am not afraid to cry.

I am notI’m not your little boy.
You’re not my little girl.
I’m just someone you met,
And wants to change the world
I’m not the prince in your dreams
I don’t have smarts or might
I’m just the one that screams
And cries to sleep at night
I’m not who you want me to be.
I will never be what you are.
I’m myself, I am free.
I’m not ashamed of my scars
I’m not that weak
You’re not that strong
You still have company
But I’m still alone
So I speak
Though this poem.
It’s not a pretty love song
I’m just saying what pains me, explaining what’s going on.
Because I am not perfect,
I’m not retarded,
I’m just like you,
Broken Hearted
Never forget,
There is always a reason to be
And I won’t regret
I’m always happy to be me.

Second ShadowThe hand on your shoulder
The whispers in your mind
The words on your tongue
The voice in your throat
And the feelings in your soul

To drive to madness
To seduce the insane
To draw the blood
And dull the senses
To plague the memories
Of damage done
To fake safe haven
As the character changes

Light the anger and fuel the rage
Another mind to feed
A second shadow
To take you into eternity

Skylapse

Skylapse

And now I finally see-
The true face of faith that I once held so dearly

This sensation is somewhat familiar-
My thick tears become entangled

I clench my trembling fists-
As a regretful prayer exits my tainted lips
-
Blindly lead down this beaten path!
Reaching the end forces me to despise the past

Hymns of comfort have left me feeling torn!
This flawed cross can't protect me anymore

I always reached for what wasn't even there!
The darkness becomes clear as the light disappears

I kiss the welcoming abyss / Closing the rift I once lived
Clouds drift / Body lifts
Winds wisp / Tears twist
My pain and peace quickly shift / The over

combatantI.
it strikes me
that this woman
could be a palace.

I marvel at
the opulent dome of
her brow, her arch
expression—

skin like a courtyard of
ivory tiles,
a thousand intersecting
golden lines about her
head and neck.

she beams from atop her
sunlit tower,
beatific and beautiful,

spreads her arms like
open doors,
invites you to be one of

the many
who have wandered her
lavish halls.

II.
I’ve often thought
of myself
as a castle:

all rough-hewn stone
and turrets,
a temper like molten
tar.

my head is crowned
with
embattled parapets,

weapons readied
at the crenels.

I look out from my
guerites, my brattices,
eyes like arrow-slits

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Your Body Is A WonderlandOur hips lie adjacent to each other
as your hands clench and I
draw in a shaky breath.

This is exactly how I remembered us
and we easily pick up
right where our hearts left off.

If You Could Talk...If he could speak,
he'd say that he was missing
how they used to love him.

He lays on the floor
and watches himself get replaced
by two younger, newer pups.

The little girl
is not so little,
not anymore, but he knows
that she remembers that time.

She is not so easily taken
with the new additions to the home.

If he could speak her language,
he'd let out a simple, "Thank you."

He tries, but it simply comes out:
"Arouf."

MissedThere was a week where
I drew up life in my womb

and began the task of ticking away
every defect it would have,

every ounce I drank the night before,
every drug that had passed my lips,

every flaw you had.

Harmful If SwallowedIt feels like a curse to have to speak your name,
like retching those syllables from the back of my throat
could somehow conjure you back into my life
just so that you could finally know
how easily one look can still crumble my defenses.

So I don't say your name,
and instead refer to you simply as He.
You could just as easily be another He
and no one will ever know
that not-so-subtle impact you tend to have.

Daddy's Little GirlI once told my father how my brother
resembles the days of our youth;
how it's like someone had stretched him
and only I could still see that little boy
through the adult lines of his face.

My father, an unaffectionate man, looked at me
and said that

this image you built for your brother
is how I've been looking at you all along;
older but still so small.

It was in that moment
I finally knew he loved me.

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Just A Boy, Always A Monster

by ~jessicaconk, Jul 29, 2012, 7:28:39 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Instinctively, I search for you.
You, the one who tore through my flesh
only to pronounce me "not good enough".

Not good enough.
You were not the first to say such things,
but you were the original pioneer
to melt away my thighs and give way to a monster.

Monster.
The memory of you has become just that
and it feeds off my loneliness
and it thrives off your deceit
and it has embedded itself in my brain.

And I will remember the way you forced your hand down my pants
as you pleaded that you loved me,
but you abused my body.

You were just a boy,
but you had the hands of a man
that knew exactly what they were doing.

Just A Boy, Always A Monsterby ~jessicaconk

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Why is emotional poetry even a category?
Isn't all poetry some kind of emotional?
Srsly.

*MarMicheal Jul 29, 2012

very powerful and heartfelt, i pray this is fiction..

*MarMicheal Jul 29, 2012

i will not critique this one it is too personal.

~jessicaconk Jul 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You can critique personal ones. Poetry is poetry.

*MarMicheal Jul 29, 2012

yes but sometimes, when you talk about one that personal, you devalue poem, ok how can i explain this, being hurt like that from a pig, and having another male tell you what is and isnt " right" about it doesnt go well with me.. all men are pigs some of us just control ourselves better then others.

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