Sacred Nights

That day my instructor told me

to make art with my mouth.

He said to think of something sacred,

such as a candlelit service.

But I was not thinking of

religion.

I thought of the chaos surrounding me,

an endless storm, full of debris and

collateral damage.

I was thinking of those nights I

sobbed silently, gasping for breath and

tearing at my hair in the dark.

I was my own downfall,

a nightmare,

and I was my own savior.

I taught myself to breathe again

and forced myself to

acknowledge the pain, because

it was the realest, most piercing

thing I’d ever felt.

I found peace in knowing I could

fight back, even though all I wanted

to do was run, or sleep, anything but

feel.

I finally fell asleep on those sacred

nights.

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Safe

You promised me you

would hold me at my

worst,

swore you would cradle 

me until I learned how 

to breathe again.

And you did.

I never wanted you to see me

like that,

but we both knew it was

inevitable, and the time had

come.

As I struggled to control

my breathing and swallow down

my panic he held me close.

He told me I was safe,

it was okay to be scared.

I believed him.

I believed you.

He held me until it

was time to leave.

You held me so tight.

I was safe.

I am safe.

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{Untitled}

There are days
when I can hardly
hold on any more,
and giving in is a
beautiful luxury I
might just be able
to afford.

Then there are day
where giving in
is not even a thought.
I am light,
about to float away.
I am perfectly
happy.

Then there are those
days
when I fight until my
fingers are bloody;
to breathe,
to force down the bad
feelings,
to survive.

There are days
when my passion
is fiery, red hot
in my heart,
racing through
my veins.
Screaming,
I will live.

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Darkness Misunderstood

It is perceived that the
light makes everything
good,
makes everything right.
But no one mentions
how it blinds us,
in all it’s arrogance,
and tells us to conform
to survive.

It is perceived that darkness
holds everything bad,
all of the monsters under
our own beds.
But no one speaks of
how the dark makes
everything soft,
how it folds us gently
into itself and sings us
a sweet lullaby until
we fall into our own
oblivion.

It is the light that sugar
coats our messes
and tells us to live in
ignorance because that
is the very best way.

It is the dark that lets
us cry out, and gasp,
and hurt,
but that also tells us
to sleep,
and we can start over
again.

The light is a lie.
Darkness is hope.

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Heavy

People often say that
when they are out of
touch,
or overwhelmed,
they feel as if they
might float away.

Not me.
I feel the earth
pulling me down,
down,
stronger than gravity,
making my limbs impossible to lift
as it folds me in its center,
burning hot,
yet not hateful.
Gentle.
But heavy.

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Here

All this time I have
been caged in.
Iron-strong bars of
doubts and fatigue,
keeping me in,
as my wings long
to fly.

But in your arms
I am free.
In your eyes
I see refuge.
My chains cannot find
me here,
showered with imperfect,
yet unconditional love.

Here, I can be myself
without fear of
reprimand.
Here, I can find
peace.
Here, I don’t have to
be afraid.

I am not afraid.

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The Broken Help the Broken

We give our respect in
excess to the
while people who repair
the broken,
and who set them back
on the loose shelf they
fell from in the first place.

We hardly recognize
the broken people who
piece together their fellow
shattered.
Because they understand.
How it feels,
to give in,
would never want anyone
to feel like that.
Not like they
do.

They neglect themselves
in the name of love
and let themselves
fall,
fall,
fall so far down,
until they can’t climb
back up into functioning
society and it’s ignorance.

These are the people we
should be celebrating.

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{Untitled}

There are few things I
wouldn’t give to have the
integrity of my day decided by if
a sports game was won,
or how easy homework is.

Instead, my days are dictated
by whether or not I can eat
without the urge to throw it
all up again, and
how many times I feel the
need to bite my nails into
bloody stubs.

I envy those whose only
worry is if their clothes
are wrinkled, while I
am trying to convince myself
that taking this next breath
will be worth it, in the end,
even if it hurts now.

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Routine

The places that are
supposed to be safe,
places where I can just be,
have warped into a hell
I never imagined for myself.

I am still alive.
Still forced to continue
my daily routine:
Breathe-In, out.
Focus, school is important.
Breathe-In, out.
Screw school.
They aren’t looking
at me.
Are they?
Breathe-In, out.
Oh God, please don’t cry.

Later it’s:
Breathe-In, out.
Hold sobs in until my
stomach hurts from effort.
Breathe-In, out.
Can’t hold it in.
Hold my breath so each
sob is silent.
Ribs hurt.
And finally,
sleep.

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A Gift

His feather-light lips brush
against mine.
His hand softly lies on
my cheek.
There is so much intimacy
in his innocent touch.

His arms, wrapped around
me,
keep me safe from the
anxieties in my heart.
Now, starting to ebb,
calm washes over me.
The calm I’ve been
searching for all my life.

It’s a gift,
one I know he doesn’t
fully understand.
One I indulge in because
I know it can, will, be
taken away as quick as
it was given.

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