A Hardened Heart

all I want is to run

far and fast and screaming.

run to places unknown

distant and far away.

with speed and agility

make my way round obstacles.

with strength and stamina

see how far I can go.

muscles flexing, burning

stretched to their very limit.

blood pumping fiercely

through every swollen vein.

breath coming fast and hard

lungs put to the test.

gasping but never giving in

beyond any limit set.

I want to run without direction

no map or navigation.

to be moving without knowing

just where I might land.

I want to lose this image of

myself along the way.

I want to forget the spelling

and the sound of my name.

I want to break this mold

that I cannot seem to crack.

the one that has me trapped

in my own mind.

rip and tear at the edges

until something finally gives.

and a sigh of relief

lets me slowly inhale again.

I want to breath this darkness out

in heavy deep sighs.

let this blackness

seep out of my chest.

withdraw sharpened teeth

retract jagged claws.

and find the tenderness

of a heart that has become so hard.

Not Enough Blank Pages

what is it that I keep fighting

my head up against this wall.

what answers do I keep wishing

would grace my aching mind.

what words do I need to hear

that will release this wicked hold.

that confusion has laid upon me

that has pinned me to the floor.

why am I walking around in this fog

dizzy from lack of sleep.

lying awake and writing  stories

on my ceiling in the dark.

if you could see the blank page

as I see it from inside these eyes.

you would see the potential of lifetimes

that will never have the chance to live.

word after word and line after line

are running from end to end.

the blank spaces becoming smaller

no more room for any of this.

words are chasing me like an addiction

and producing a reaction in me.

a racing pulse, *a sweating heart*

a need to somehow be free.

I feel feverish and shaken

rattled most days on end.

I’ve taken to the constant reading of words

to try find what I cannot say.

it’s not for lack of fodder

my god, I’ve an endless supply.

it’s a lack of getting to the heart

of what is eating me from the inside.

the answers I want, quite frankly,

I know will never come.

I want you to tell me that what I felt

was actually something real.

I want you to tell me it mattered

to someone more than just me.

but so clearly and so sadly spun

that story will never be told.

 

 

 

 

*thanks to Jenn Whetton for this line*

 

What?

what triggers shake you

wake you from a dream.

what do you fear

in the darkest part of the night.

what knocks your balance

from underneath your feet.

what takes the truth

and rips it from your lips.

what makes you reach for comfort

the ever soothing numb.

what sends you running

and hiding from the light.

what makes you curl yourself up

into a ball in the middle of days.

what keeps you in that room

with the blinds all drawn.

what is the root of the evil

that you think defines your shape.

what is the very essence

of who you are.

what do you tell yourself

so that you fall asleep at night.

what wakes you just as soon

as you close your eyes.

what has disconnected

you from the world at hand.

what has become the soundtrack

for your days.

what has you spinning in circles

and falling to the floor.

what has taken the very spirit

of who you are.

what is the battle you are waging

what is the war you fight.

what will you do to conquer

before it takes your life.

dis~honest

things that cling and stick to me

things I cannot shake.

the tremors that leave me stumbling

unable to walk straight lines.

it is not in the light of day

that I struggle to connect the dots.

it is when the shadows fall down low

that I fall between the cracks.

it is in the corners and crevices

that I have learned to hide.

like a spider that skips away

from the edge of the sweeping broom.

under the legs of tables

or that ever rocking chair.

weaving a web of intricate lines

that never reveal their truth.

last night in a dream

I saw rows of bottles lined up on the floor.

and no one in the room

would ask what they were for.

avoidance was the underlying

metaphor of the dream.

again back to the premise

of hiding it all away.

perched in this corner here in my web

catching unwitting prey.

walking, obliviously close

to a dangerous place to be.

unseen evil a present threat

honesty has slipped through the cracks.

I’m even lying to myself now

in this wickedly scripted play.

The Ritual

I can feel the edge of a blade

scratching hungrily against my skin.

Naked and tender

there is nothing to protect me tonight.

It feels like the darkness

folding in on me.

There is nothing to protect me

from the attack.

It’s not as if I surrendered

my innocence.

 Gave up my rough edges

and hardened ways.

It’s more like something is taking

over from within.

Telling me that worth

will now thus be defined.

Dragging across and leaving

a fresh and dripping trail.

Watching it pool into

puddles on my floor.

Tracing lines in the stains

that are left upon my skin.

Drawing pictures with the life

that is leaving me.

The bleeding has begun

slowly at first.

But intensity grows and deepens

as does this wound.

Tearing me open

ripping apart from the inside.

Leaving nothing imagined

nothing to be presumed.

All will be exposed

and now I’m begging.

For anyone to connect the lines

between the scars.

Make the cut if you dare

but I will warn you.

This is not for the timid,

the tender or weak of heart.

Believing In Fairytales

I started this journal for you

it was going to be a gift.

It would have been all that lived in my heart 

written out by hand for you.

After that day you said to me

yes, I feel you too.

My heart burst open, exploding 

fireworks into the sky.

I ran to the ocean, notebook in hand

to tell her what had come. 

I dug my toes into the sand

to root myself in what I felt.

A feeling akin to floating

tethered to nothing at all.

A heart so full it lifted me

with a lightness I can't explain.

Time has passed now

and everything has changed.

Though there is still sand in my notebook
I doubt that you still know my name.
I fell in love with a voice
a sound at the end of a line.
Words that came when I needed them
but I never should have heard.
You have now renounced that voice
citing it a ventriloquist's trick.
But I cannot speak for anyone
I listened to what was said.
If that truly wasn't you
I wonder who it was.
And why she so eagerly
let me fall in love with her?
Maybe you needed me
as much as I needed you.
And maybe the words that passed your lips
just scared you because they tasted so good.
Maybe it was just nothing
another page in a book.
One that was easily turned
for the words on the next page.
The problem for me is I'm lost n the tale
fiction fooled me again.
Believing in myths and fairy tales
like a child lost in a dream.

**for the last few weeks, I 've been writing in notebooks, by hand. I haven't done this in a long time.
Just sifting through some of it tonight**

The Addict's Game

flashing past me at the speed of sound

lights flicker, pulse pumping veins.

breath quick, heart beats, mind spins

I can’t quite make sense of anything.

it’s been like this for days

something spinning.

whirling, twirling,

I cannot pin it down.

I feel like I am high

 and drifting wildly.

fearful I will not

find my way back down.

nervous edges might be the cause

fear of what’s to come.

knowing that change

in necessary again.

but my focus has shifted wickedly

I’m unsettled deep within.

and maybe that’s not the best time

to move forward again.

I feel like I’m running away from something

instead of running to.

and the recklessness of that

 is giving me fits.

uncontrolled terror

is now keeping me awake.

the addict fiendishly coveting

something warm.

something that seeps into the blood

and scares away all of the demons.

something transparent that creates

the illusion of strength.

something that distracts me from the ghosts

but also steals my ability to think.

with focus unattainable

that now becomes the course.

and the place where I must

engage my every thought.

this is the circle that I spin

with precision and expertise.

exchange one for the other

when it all becomes too much.