SCARED as H E L L .

I'm scared of this.

 

I swallow my heart as the fear sinks into my soul. Slithering through my veins and tickling my insides. (deep breaths, deep breaths.) ....so many fears. They're hiding in my rib cage, and shaking my bones. But they're starting to slowly slip out...stinging and burning.

(inhale. exhale.)

 

I'm scared of me.

I'm scared of my reflection.

I'm scared of the scars that drip from my fingers telling stories that no one should ever hear...

I'm scared of the burning hole in the floor where my heart fell.

I'm scared to pick up my heart and see the imperfections.

I'm scared of beautiful things, and beautiful people.

I'm scared of letting go.

I'm scared of walking away, because I don't know what will happen when I'm gone.

I'm scared of my eyes, and having you look at them, in them...

Then you'd see my soul, how dark and dying it is.

But then maybe you'd start loving me.

Just maybe...

I'm scared that you stole my soul when you kissed me.

And that you won't ever kiss me again.

I'm scared of the rainstorms inside myself.

That make my mind wet and drippy.

I'm scared to admit that the butterflies went missing(I think they died).

And I didn't go looking for them.

I'm scared that the reason I'm shivering cold is because

I-I love-I love you with every fiber of my being and deep in my bones.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I'm scared of being warm, because that would mean it's all gone.

The love, the pain, and you.

You'd be gone.

But I'm scared of you.

Of loving you.

I'm scared that you'll be the only one that ever made me feel. Even if I did have to bleed and bruise a little to get there.

I'm scared of my heart.

And I'm scared of looking, because I might see something beautiful.

I'm scared to look at your flaws,
because I'll fall in love all over again.

And I'm scared that my heart is trying to push you away; to forget you. But my bones won't let it...

I'm scared as Hell.

Here. I. Am.

Nobody sees the scars because they're hidden.

Swallowed up in the sadness of an untold story. 

But that's what I am. 

I'm made of 

broken pieces, 

untold stories, 

hushed secrets,

glass kisses,

dangerous inspiration, 

unsaid words, 

and hidden scars. 

Full of 

lost hope, 

empty promises, 

smothered memories, 

shattered joy, 

wounded fear,

and fallen dreams. 

Haunted by 

burnt shadows,  

faded beauty, 

quiet love, 

delicate fingerprints,

worn out laughter, 

fragile loss, 

and blank pages. 

I am 

torn edges, 

crooked lines, 

crippled feelings, 

aching tears, 

silent thoughts,

crumbling walls,

and endless mistakes.

A damaged heart.

A frayed soul.

A stained mind.

An imperfect whole.

...But Here I Am.

bricks and blood and broken people.

it's like a mountain sitting on my brain

a dam that's clogging the river, that runs out back, of creativity

covering the crosswalks of an eternal dreamer.

i call it writer's block brick (not block).

it's not the kind of brick you would use to build a house

but the kind that you would use to draw pictures on the sidewalk with the crumbled pieces when you don't have any chalk

the kind that you take pictures of because they're old and faded like my broken past 

(but please don't take pictures of that)

the kind that surround my slightly beating, battered heart

a secret garden.

the kind that hide the love, the war and the burnt lungs.

you knocked on the bricks of my heart

and they never knock back

but for you they did

and it hurt like hell

like all of my insides shook and crumbled as the walls went down

and i could hear the sound, it was the sound of me breaking.

and you came in

scratching at my heart

and leaving scars where you touched.

and i left little pieces of myself where i went...

it's easier to feel without them.

and when the silence comes, all i want is to sleep to the sound of your heartbeat next to mine

because for a moment i thought i felt my soul smile.

the bricks broke.

and the silence came.

and the sounds died.

and my heart stopped breathing...

poison and little white memories.

"You told me I was beautiful.

But I didn't believe you.

Your words felt like poison as they spat on my imperfect skin.

Burning into little white memories.

How could something this dark and broken,

This destroyed, be beautiful?" -me.

The walls.

My-My Heart.

Untouchable. 

Protected.

Just not from you...

You walked through my walls like rain

And touched my heart so gently that it burst into tears.

JUST. STAY. AWAY.

i love you. i love you. i love you.

the whisper is all i have left to give.

and it sounds so strange...

cold to the touch, gentle and easy on the eyes.

a stern, heartless monster that kills.

love.

love.

love.

and i think i might actually feel something if i don't cover it up.

a random little something. . .

WE STOPPED HIDING FROM THE MONSTERS UNDER OUR BEDS 

WHEN WE REALIZED THEY WERE INSIDE OF US.

            

untitled.

Like a pen on a page, you cut deep into my soul; wrote the words of my heart.

But then the pen broke.

And the ink bled.

Leaving a black spot on my life, my very existence.

The ink just continues to spread.

Never stopping.

Stretching to the very edges of all that I am.

And my once clean, empty pages are now forever stained with your memory...

A BARELY BREATHING MEMORY.

the creativity was pulled from our fingertips. stripped from our souls.
and the childhood fell.
fell from our lips and blew away in the wind.
got stomped under the feet of....grown-ups.

was kicked and beaten right out of our souls.

left dead in the dirt. and we're just left empty.

we're still trying to pick up the pieces and put them together with our tape and glue sticks, to put the child back in us. 

but it won't fit anymore. 

it's so broken that the edges don't quite fit the same way, they cut up your insides. 

trying to break out, to get some air. 

all it needs is some air. 

to heal. 

to fix itself. 

then the child would fit again. 

the grown-ups know but the grown-ups don't tell you this. 

they don't care. 

it's not like your pet dog that they tell you to feed and water everyday so it doesn't die. 

because they love the dog. 

it's your childhood, they don't want it. 

so you just try to keep it inside of you, to hold on to it as long as you can.

but it's broken and dying. 

and you're starting to forget...

the pain tickles, trying to remind you that the child is still there. 

but you brush it off, ignoring it. 

because that's what the grown-ups told you to do. 

and now the crayons are melted and my childhood sure as hell ain't never comin back.

you are what you eat. i am words.

there are some days when i don't feel.

i'm just moving. unsure of where it is i'm headed.

my breathing is mechanical and consistent.

it's like the world is living in slow motion and i'm just there.

watching.

a tourist.

but there are other days when i feel so much that my heart could burst.

an explosion of pain. blinding this dark world we call home.

what i feel is the same as what everyone else feels.

but i'm just too afraid to admit it.

afraid to say the words that want to break out of me.

to scream into the universe so people will know that i'm breaking.

but i eat those words.

words coated with sugar so the swallowing is easier.

i am human.

i am not a tourist.

i am a writer. a creator.

you want to know why i'm human?

it's because no matter how hard i try, i still love you.

because when you touch me it leaves little scars that won't ever go away.

i'm human because i bleed.

i think.

and feel.

and touch.

i love.

and i love too much.

and i break.

i'm human because i'm full of the words that i choke on as i swallow.

that don't know how to come out.

the words that i am.

is a piece of my soul considered an introduction?

I never knew how to begin.
But now I really have no idea...
My mind is constantly flooded with words and thoughts and feelings that I can't ever seem to write down.
I think it's because I'm afraid:
Of not knowing how.
Of being judged.
Of not being good enough.
Of the truth of the pain of my words and where they come from.
Of actually being good enough.
Of no one hearing what I have to say...
Of no one caring.
But I have to push these fears aside.
I just have to STOP HOLDING MY TONGUE and let the words fall out.

This is the beginning.
Today is the day the words start spilling. And hearts start to shatter.
Even if the only heart that shatters is mine, that's okay.
My feelings, bloody and broken, are going to be painted across the universe. Mine.
No one else may ever know or care. But they'll be there for the days that I need them most.
On the rainy days, alone in the coffee shop where no one else knows I go.
Shh...it's a secret.
But it's one of my favorites.
And there's so many secrets, all of them running away into the dark shadows of my mind.
Hiding from the world I wished I didn't live in.
But my mind is about to be cracked wide open.
And you'll know my secrets.

So if you're afraid of the dark, of blood and pain, and the broken pieces of life...
Then look away.
My mind is not a place for the faint heart or the weak soul.
There's some days when I can't even look. That's why I write.
Writing makes the pain seem beautiful.
It is the universe I live in, and you can come if you want.
But beware of the WARNING signs.
The lock you'll have to open.
The walls you'll have to climb to get in.
The imperfections you'll see.
The bloody footprints that mark where I've been.
Stains of words on the sky that no one else understands.
The smell of smoke and coffee.
And of the burning ashes of my existence.
The pieces of me that no one ever sees.
And there's a reason why...