Right Over Left: A Poem

Hands laying
One on top of the other
Right over left
Fingernails digging into her wrist

That all too familiar feeling
The dread, the sorrow, the anger
Swallowing tears, pinching her wrist
Holding it all together like she always does

The painted smile
The makeup, straightened hair, and stylish outfit
A costume of poise

One breath in, one breath out
Fingernails clawing at her wrist
Praying for numbness
Oh God, when did she start praying for numbness

Commanding the tears not to fall
Digging deeper and deeper into her skin
Pleading silently for the subject to change
Because this girl who seemingly can handle it all
May just crumble if she has to feel those tears run down her cheeks once again

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Fixer: A Poem

I am a fixer

Lay down your pieces

And I will mend you back together

 

I will sew your scraps

with only the faintest seams visible

and you will leave almost as good as new

 

please don’t mind my own patchwork

with its loose threads and sloppy stitching

it’s no representative of what I can do for you

 

Let me restore your soul

Taking your doubts and heartache

Leaving rehabilitation and healing in their places

 

Distract me with your sorrows

So that I may not think about mine

That I have yet to be able to fix

As I am no fixer of my own

Lonely: A Poem

I am suffocated by loneliness

The silence is ear-piercing

as my soul desperately searches for some sort of noise

 

my social life is solitary confinement

and my shackles are isolation

even within my seclusion I feel companionless

like I am the only one who has ever felt this hollow

 

my dreary existence never gets easier

another day, month, year passes

and yet the abandonment I feel only grows stronger

 

they say humans need one another to stay alive

so is that why I feel lifeless?

Plan Z : A Poem

Plan Z

 

Plans have never worked for me

All the color-coded lists are only figments of control

These pens in my hand have no power

 

Balled up paper on the floor tells my life story

Constantly rewritten

Red pen marks everywhere

 

Mid-Sentence stops because the plan didn’t even make it that far

Before whiteout was needed

Because once again things have changed

 

My hand hurts from re-writing

And each edit makes me feel like I’m losing another part of myself

Plan C felt doable

But that was so long ago

 

Plan Z is less promising

I’ve learned to start writing in pencil

Leaving the page blank feels like giving up

But I’m tired of erasing

 

 

Looking for Similarities

I wrote a poem about my experience with dissociation and depersonalization the other day, and I thought I would share it. When it was particularly bad for me, I wish I would have known what was happening and known other people were going through it too.

 

I feel disconnected from my own being

I look into the mirror and I do not know who I am

And not in a philosophical way

 

I am surprised by my own reflection

I do not know what I look like

Pictures from six years ago show who I think I am

But the mirror is telling me a different story

 

When people tell me I’m pretty, it does not feel like a compliment

I could not tell you if my body is objectively beautiful or not

 

I remember who I was before

What I wore

How I did my makeup

What I looked like

Now I am not sure

It’s one hell of a coping mechanism

 

I spend half an hour staring at myself in the mirror

Not because I’m vain, but because I’m curious

Have I always had this freckle next to my bottom lip?

When did my eyes get these gold specks in them?

I feel as if I am examining myself under a microscope

Looking for familiarity

 

My most recognizable feature is a line of three freckles on my right leg

It’s so minuscule and yet it reminds me, in times of desperation, that I still have the same body

 

My phone recognizes my face as three different people, as if it knows my inner thoughts

I constantly compare photographs from Christmas of 2015 to recent pictures, to find similarities

I’m playing Where’s Waldo with my own body, but I don’t win anything in the end

Not even satisfaction

 

My soul walks around this world and my body is just along for the ride

Showing up in my reflection to remind me how separated I’ve become

Maybe this is why I don’t go shopping

I’m too old to be dressing up a doll

 

 

 

P.S. If you haven’t seen yet, I’m doing a Q&A in honor of Queerly Texan turning one! Leave your questions in the comments below on this post or the Birthday post!

Ragged Doll

I am a ragged doll

Dropped in the mud too many times

Beaten, broken, and stained

 

I am a ragged doll

Cast aside

Sprawled out in the bottom of the toy chest

Bending beneath the weight of better newer toys

 

Toys that haven’t been stained

Haven’t been dropped in the mud

Haven’t been broken

 

I spend my nights awake

Wondering if someone will ever want this ragged doll

This ragged, broken doll

 

Some days I appear to be new

My porcelain skin has yet to start crazing

When I shatter will you still pick me over the other toys?

 

I’d want a shiny new doll if I were you

These stains are off putting

And these chips are more trouble than they’re worth

 

In a sea of shiny toys

Who would pick this ragged doll

This ragged, broken doll

Attack

Sometimes I write poetry when I’m feeling overwhelmed and I decided to share some today. I really like reading other peoples poetry, so I hope you enjoy mine.

 

Attack

I am tired
Tired of pain
Tired of “cures”
Tired of being a “head scratcher”

No amount of water or exercise is going to cure me
and in five years do you honestly believe i haven’t tried?

I don’t want to be hesitant on good days
I don’t want to question when my next flare will be
I don’t want to live my life in fear

I’m more scared of the future than excited
I just want to go to sleep
Because my nightmare goes on while I’m awake

But then some days it isn’t bad
Some weeks it isn’t bad
Some months it isn’t that bad

I crawl out of my dark hole to see the sun
I think it’s over
But the beast has other plans

She comes back with a vengeance
Making up for lost time
Putting me in my place

How dare i believe i could live a normal life?
That’s too much to ask for

But then she takes her hand from my throat once again
Giving me hope that she’ll leave me be
But i know her games

I see her lurking in the corners
I see her darkness underneath the cracks
She’s still her, just waiting to attack