Spell It Out

D

I

S

A

P

P

O

I

N

T

M

E

N

T

Can I be

Anything

Other than this?

Am I

Limited

By my

Uselessness?

My inability to

Succeed?

Will I always feel

Less

Than?

How do I

Stop

This cycle?

How can I make

You

Proud?

How many

Times

Can I

Apologize?

I

A

M

S

O

R

R

Y

Eye Light

Did you see it

Dim?

Fade away?

Did you feel the

Trust

Evaporate?

I trusted you with my

Soul,

With my

Story;

Did you feel me

Deflate?

I opened my

Gates, crushed my

Walls,

And you helped me

Build it back up,

Lock and throw away the key.

Did you see the

Light

In my

Eyes

Fade?

Cyclical

Like the

Moon

Or the

Seasons,

Your void is a

Cycle.

You toe the line between

Death and

Life,

Dancing a

Never-ending

Dance of

Depression;

You spring into a

Leap

Without knowing where you may

Fall.

Into

Darkness;

Into

Despair;

Into Death.

Like the

Moon, the

Seasons; this

Cycle

is

Endless.

Rage

Rage.

So strong and I don’t know

Why,

But it keeps

Lashing

Out at those around me.

It’s not like a

Fire,

Nor a

Snake.

There is no

Venemous

Bite;

There is only the

Anger.

It’s like a

Black

Hole,

Consuming everything in its

Path.

Cold and

Black and

Meaningless.

It’s a mystery,

Arising out of

Nothingness,

But visible to those around it.

The threat of the unknown,

When that

Abyss

Of

Darkness

Will take control

Once

More.

It rages on,

Looming over loved ones,

Seethingly silent,

Until it

Engulfs

Everything.

Spoken Word Poem # 1

Downloading app… Sign in with Facebook. Hmm, okay. Wait, is this going to like.. Let everyone on Facebook know I’m using–Oh, nevermind okay. So, set your profile images, say something about yourself? Shit, Tinder, didn’t know you were so deep.

Say something about myself, eh? Hmmm… Shit. What do I say? I… I knit. Wait no, that’s not gonna get me laid. Who fucks the 21 year old who knits? Granny fetishists, that’s who. Okay so.. Hobbies? What do I do for fun. I like… Reddit. Does that.. No that can’t count as a hobby, that sounds alarmingly like I don’t go outside.. Which I mean is true, but I’m not here for outside adventures. Well, unless someone’s into some non-granny kinky shit.

Shit, I didn’t think this would be so hard. Heh, hard.

Because what do I really know about myself? I mean, really? It’s the same on applications and meeting new people… What do you tell someone? Especially someone you just meet? How do you get your entire personality and being across without sounding like the boring shut in you truly are?

Going through my week is just, school, homework, papers, doodles, food, and what is probably an unhealthy amount of one on one time with my laptop. Running errands, oh shit I gotta renew my driver’s license, somebody remind me after this.

Somewhere between graduating from high school and the four years ’till this very moment (well in fact, a few days ago when I wrote this), I’ve lost my sense of self. Everything I do has a purpose, either to do well in school, or to distract me from how not well I’m doing in school.

In the summer it’s working to pay for school, which I’m paying to join the ranks of the gleefully unemployed. I don’t know where I was going with this…

Oh yeah, dating apps! Well, in this case not-so-dating apps. But meeting new people is scary, regardless of whether I’m going to see their genitals or not. And all granny-fucking aside, what do I really know about them? I only know what they want me to know, and vice versa… But what about what I want them to know about me?

There are some things that, well, that aren’t so easy to hide. The longer you interact with someone, the more they’re going to discover about you, and maybe it’ll be the same for you. And at some point, they’re going to see the white glint of a long-faded scar, or hear the rattle of pill bottles in your purse… And they may not ask you immediately, but they’re going to wonder. And a time is going to come when it gets hard, real hard, for you to keep telling them it’s just candy they hear or you got scratched by a cat in the 2nd grade. There’s only so many lies you can tell before you get tired.

Oh one sec, I got a message!

“I am so hornry right now”

Shit Tinder, you’re deep.

So maybe if I can’t tell Mike the horndog that I take antidepressants and adderal, I don’t really have to hide it. I’ll wear short sleeves and I’ll use my pill bottles like the maracas they were meant to be, and when someone asks me what it’s all about, I’ll tell them that’s me. That’s who I am, who I was, and maybe who I’ll always be.

The truth is, I don’t really know who I am, not completely. I’m only 21, I still do not understand taxes and lose more socks to the washing machine than I care to admit, and it’s not the pills or the cloud of sadness that sometimes hangs over me like that one shitty Mario Kart item that zaps you small. I am not who I was four years ago, I am…

Alright, how’s this Tinder?

An internet-loving shut-in just trying to find–OH GOD IS THAT A DICK?

Who?

I don’t know why.

I can’t tell you,

Because

I don’t know

Myself.

I don’t know why I push you away when I want you to

Stay.

I couldn’t tell you the reason I stay up all night

Staring at

Nothingness.

I can’t give you an answer to any of these quirks,

And I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I never give you a reason.

I’m sorry you put up with my behaviour without any

Explanation.

I’m sorry I love you one minute and

Hate you the next.

I’m sorry for what this does to you.

And maybe I’m just apologizing to you

Instead of figuring it out

Myself.

Figuring out

Me.

I’m sorry that I feel ways I don’t

Understand,

That I can’t explain my actions to myself

Even after doing them constantly.

And I don’t know if it’s just who I am,

Or if it’s the cloud in my brain,

Or the rain of medication down my throat.

I can’t tell the difference anymore.

If I were to stop everything,

Lift the weights of depression off my shoulders,

Pour the pills down the pipes…

Who would I be?

Would I still be me?

Would I even recognize… Me?

Am I a completely different person underneath all this…

Fixing?

And breaking? And

Repeating?

Who would I be?

I don’t know.