Tag Archives: painful

I Hate Christmas

Christmas is not a holiday for the lonely

Happiness is all around me but not inside me

Remembered how I’m not loved or cherished anymore

Isolated with the knowledge of how alone I really am

Sadness over comes all emotions

The hollowness of my empty heart echos louder than usual

My mind is running wild with the lonely thoughts deep inside my soul

Always reminded how I don’t have anyone to be with

Surrounded by happy couples and happy families while I have nobody

Cutting

pain is too hard to carry. pain in your mind, destroying it. pain in your heart, hurting you. pain you can’t get rid of. pain that will keep piling on. pain holding onto you with claws. pain unwilling to let you go. pain keeping a too tight grip.

pushing the blade into fresh skin. pushing so much red rises up. pushing so much it starts tingling. pushing until the pain becomes numb. push down, cut deeply, move swiftly. pushing to numb everything deep inside. pushing until you’re unable to feel.

finally you’re able to breath again. finally everything becomes a little clearer. finally you have a clean mind. finally breathing isn’t a heavy chore. finally you can show a smile. finally you can be you again.

Scared Skin

I miss wearing tank tops while out in the sun. I miss wearing cute little sun dresses without having to worry. I miss wearing little shorts that go above my knees. I miss being able to wear whatever I wanted without feeling insecure about it. Without having to worry if people are looking at my arm or looking at my thigh. People are talking or whispering about my skin that isn’t smooth anymore.

Are they looking at me and giving me their pity? Are they thinking what could have happened to this poor girl for her to do that? I always wonder what people are thinking when I finally build up the courage of wearing a tank top at work when it’s +20 degrees inside the store. or when I wear a skirt that’s one inch too short.

I can tell by the looks on their faces that they can see them, they can see the deep set scars in my skin. They can see the pain I went through showing on my sleeve, the deep thoughts that was spilled out onto my thigh. The paint of pity is brushed across their face like heavy oil paint on a canvas. They try to give a reassuring smile but it’s not thick enough to ignore the sorrow in their eyes about me, they give a nod to say hello but I can see the shake of their head as they pass me.

When I don’t cover my arms or legs while I’m out in public I feel like I’m walking around naked. They can see my thoughts, read my mind like words on a piece of paper. They’re able to look into my past, see through my eyes in the present and know my future. I want to be able to be happy again and walk around like nothing is wrong with me anymore, I’m fixed, I’m all better. But everyone who looks at the lines on my skin know that I’m not fixed, and I’m not all better.

But now…

Hearing his voice use to give her a calming serenity, but now she can’t bare to hear his voice.

Looking at his face use to bring her joy, but now she doesn’t have the courage to look up.

Feeling his touch use to give her goosebumps, but now she pulls away from his grasp.

Kissing his lips use to give her butterflies in her stomach, but now she can’t help but to hurt deep down.

Holding him use to be the only thing she wanted, but now she can’t be anywhere near him.

Being close was the one thing she needed, but now she can’t be within 3 feet of him.

Loving him was easy, simple, and natural, but now loving him is painful, hard, and torturous.

Boys Will be Boys

Boys think it’s all about them.

Boys are allowed to do anything.

Boys can do anything they want.

 

Gils are supposed to shut up.

Girls have to take what’s given.

Girls do not have any say.

 

Boys think girls dress for them.

Boys think girls are their belongings.

Boys think girls have to listen.

 

Girls can’t think that it’s wrong.

Girls can’t think he’s not allowed.

Girls can’t think, speak, or move.

 

Boys are allowed to bug girls.

Boys are allowed to hit girls.

Boys are allowed to touch girls.

 

Girls are not allowed to protest.

Girls are not allowed to reject.

Girls are not allowed to feel.

 

Boys can do what they want.

Boys can do anything they want.

Boys can think what they want.

 

Girls can’t do what they want.

Girls can’t do what boys can.

Girls can’t do anything about it.

 

Boys are stronger, better, and smarter.

Boys are encouraged, accepted, and extraordinary.

Boys are curious, adventurous, and idealistic.

 

Girls are weak, unopinionated, and stupid.

Girls are silent, unable, and pathetic.

Girls are ignorant, disrespectful, and unfit.

 

Boys are allowed to be boys.

Boys are allowed to say anything.

Boys are allowed to speak up.

 

Girls aren’t allowed to be girls.

Girls aren’t allowed to say anything.

Girls aren’t allowed to speak up.

 

Boys don’t worry about any consequences.

Boys don’t worry about girls speaking.

Boys don’t worry about significant abuse.

 

Girls worry about not being believed.

Girls worry about being shut upped.

Girls worry about being rapped, abused.

 

Parents make excuses for their boys.

Teachers defend the boys in school.

Authorities believe the boys with anything.

 

Parents discourage their girl’s outspoken words.

Teachers give girls punishments with everything.

Authorities don’t believe in the girls.

Fat

She can’t look in her mirror,

She can’t look at herself anymore.

She can’t look at her body,

She can’t look at her face.

 

She hates when her legs touch.

She hates when her stomach shows.

She hates when her arms move.

She hates when her butt’s bulging.

 

Her legs touch, shake while walking.

Her legs are dry and bleak.

Her legs are wide and thickset.

Her legs are stocky and stubby.

 

Her stomach is potbellied and husky.

Her stomach is jiggly and wiggly.

Her stomach is bulging and plumply.

Her stomach is oversized and swollen.

 

Her arms are roly-poly and blabby.

Her arms are fleshy and chunky.

Her arms are flabby and overabundance.

Her arms are blubber and beefy.

 

Her butt is lumpy and bumpy.

Her butt is irregular and uneven.

Her butt is stout and blucky.

Her butt is pudgy and hefty.

 

She grabs fat on inner thighs.

She pulls handfuls of her stomach.

She pinches her under arm flubber.

She squeezes her butt to smaller.

 

She stretches for smaller inner thighs.

She drinks tea for smaller stomach.

She exercises for smaller, thinner arms.

She walks for smaller, rounder butt.

Friday Night Cutting

She started cutting that Friday night.

She could have asked for help,

She was talking to someone on Facebook,

But she decided not to ask.

She told him she was tired,

She had an energy burning day.

She said goodnight, and signed off.

But she should have stayed online.

She went up to her bedroom.

She changed into her comfy clothes.

She climbed into bed, sat there.

But she wasn’t alone in bed.

She brought an old beautiful friend.

She laid it down on her.

She pushed it into her skin.

But with a singular quick movement,

She was bleeding again, something forgotten.

She hasn’t done this so long.

She wanted to desperately remember again.

But her skin didn’t want to.

She couldn’t stop the red tears.

She couldn’t stop the radiating warmth.

She couldn’t stop the red diamonds.

But it eventually stopped. For now.