Snippet Of A Conversation

“Confront the facts!

You’ve hated yourself,

You’ve lived a lie!

You’re not what you present!”

 

“Shut up.

All persona is presentation,

It’s all a lie anyway

So what does it matter?”

 

“Represent someone else

And hide from what you really feel.

Is this what you really want,

Miss Freedom of Expression?”

 

“I’ll express what I choose.

My secrets are my own,

And does anyone really care

What I feel inside?”

 

“What does it matter

If anyone gives a damn?

What satisfactions comes

From dishonest expression?”

 

I Called Myself Prisoner

I still imagine myself chained to the wall of some dark place,
Wanting to scream myself sore.
I carry that image even in my calmest moments,
Knowing it always has the potential to surface.
It’s not an image I invented,
It’s something I impulsively conceived.
I’m trained to see everyone as a treat,
Even the most well-meaning person could uncover me,
Force me to feel things I’d forced down
And expose my shameful needs without warning.
I can’t afford to be a nearly six-foot male,
Dressed in all black, crying in front of others
For the sake of my own self-pity
And consistent self-neglect.
I can’t afford to open myself up
To anymore ridicule and scrutiny
Over factors I can’t explain, or even understand,
Even though I feel them potently.
There’s just something unbearably wretched
About having your own issues neglected
Or treated like a waste of time
Simply because you can’t express them convincingly.
And worse, being perceived as melodramatic,
Stubborn, over sensitive, or seeking attention
Or pitied in the wrong way, pitied from superficial superiority
As though you’re clearly missing the point.
I live with that image in my head,
Chained and shrieking in a cold, dark place,
And it isn’t just one thing, it’s a host of repressed issues,
All compounded into an overwhelming reason to stay down,
But it’s killing me,
It’s literally destroying my capacity to feel good.
I’m in a precarious state,
Feeling my way blindly out of the dark,
Allowing myself to be seen in short bursts
So I don’t feel so encased.
All the old fears follow me,
My doubts and trepidations,
My internalized images and insecurities
And my methods of undermining them.
Fuck being self-contained.
Fuck holding back for other’s sake,
Fuck feeling confident about other people’s problems
Like you’re above such things.
I’m in a precarious state,
In that, I feel like letting myself go regardless who’s in the way.
I’ve become adept at being distant,
At shrouding my turbulence so thoroughly
You wouldn’t even suspect
I was witholding anything significant.
I’m still actively withdrawn,
It’s a strength I’ve come to cherish,
And I don’t know I’ll ever open up
Enough to make up for what I’ve lost,
But I’ve had enough pretending,
And choking down emotion just to feel safe.
I’m still chained up somewhere dark,
But I’m past pretending it’s nothing.

Transition Through Fear

Control your fear,
Deaden your senses,
Listless solitude is the perfect fuel
For an existential crisis.
I’ve slowly eroded,
Turned to dust and resurfaced,
I’ve un-become the thing
That hated who I was,
The thing that hated everything
To escape what it hated being.
I can remember trembling,
A dead weight swiftly lifted,
Before recognizing myself clearly
And collapsing to the dirt.
My body is a prison,
My brain the sadistic jailer,
Holding down its prisoner
At the bottom of a well.
A glimmer in the chasm
Made to bury shameful secrets.

Looking out, it screams,
Being seen like naked eyes.
Repression is a disguise as
Recognition imbibes pain.
I am the thing that hates,
Projecting but what it contains,
Nothing but the distaste
For what I was afraid of being.
Captivity is a ritual,
As survival is to pain,
Avenging a broken heart
Buried beneath cold sentiments.
Weakness, being me,
Being something ugly,
Guilty and fragile,
And tempestuously charged.
I’m become the domineer,
Steering everything to crash
For bitterness, the sake of
The empty shape I cast.
Without a real feeling
To tamper my identity,
I freely hate the feelings
I’ve hated holding in me.
You’re everything I need,
That I vehemently despise,
Reminding me what’s real
And why I’m not really fine.
My blood draws a stop,
Distress signals overload,
Impulsively shutting down
Self-awareness and empathy.
An empty shape won’t ease,
It’s an insatiable thing,
And I’ve almost eaten
Everything I truly love
To blind myself from seeing.
Now, I’ve given in,
Unearthed the buried creature
I’d sheltered in a cage
To keep it from ever feeling.
I needed space to breathe,
Shelter, so I could think,
Awestruck by the callousness
And brutality of living.
It’s a graveyard
And a hornets’ nest,
Fear not to be feared
Not being dangerous.
I’ve tasted the comforts of malignancy.
I’ve torn my ego from its shell,
That agoraphobic parasite
I clung to like a life-vest.
I needed strength,
And the safest place to hide
For a fragile little thing
Is deep inside its mind.
Revealing an honest form,
Freshly embracing empathy and connection,
I can finally face your solemn eyes,
Even though I’m terrified.
I’ll live with myself,
Finally, I’ll risk being me,
To live for these moments
Without regret in the way.
I cannot be changed,
But I can grow and adapt,
And if we can share a love,
Or a struggle, I’ll do my best.

I Wish I Could’ve Been Myself

What was personified and what was genuine

Are so terribly mixed, I’m unsure.

That which bewilders is beset

With doubt between what’s real and pure.

Make-believe and masquerade

My many truths beffudled in mystique.

A sample of a splinted soul

Shrouded in saturations oblique.

Deciet drawn with smiles

To distract from fractured truths.

My naked self encased away

In case of breakage or missuse.

Secrets so nobody knows

The depths of misery I contain,

The shame and weakness

I consume and in my fear sustain.

I wish that I had been myself

But being myself, what a mess was made.

A look beneath my stained visage

Betrays the oceans I’ve kept restrained.

It’s coming soon, I must confess,

My will and levies are going to break.

So when I finally be myself

My tears might drown away my aches.

To Never Be Preyed Upon

To never be preyed upon

I learned

Either hunt or be hunted.

Be the breaker or the broken.

Swallow your sentimentallity

Or suffer.

Locked away in vaults

Of cold cruel steel,

Behind bitter dispassionate bars

Biting empathetic hands

I live

Looking out

At everything that’s kept away.

To never be preyed upon

Is to sever all your heartstrings

As each one tugs your veins,

Pushing them away

Before they draw you out,

Exposed, vulnerable,

Easy prey.

And every broken heartstring bleeds

In the buried vaults unseen,

Untouched by any hand

The writhing wounded psyche

I identify as me.

To never be preyed upon

Is to never be free,

Looking out to see pleasures

I wish I could’ve been

Open and tender

In such a way as to be

The delicate flower

I’ve sheltered to keep

From being preyed upon.

I weep

Behind locked steel doors

Ashamed of myself,

Afraid for myself,

In solitudes keeping

Too weak to be anything but

Never preyed upon.

 

 

 

The Sinking Razor

Back and forth

Swings the razor’s edge

Cutting every second

In perpetual rhythm.

Sleeping in distress,

No syllable expressed

Of the grinding apparatus

Against our bosom.

Frivolous in deeds,

Expedient in needs,

As the pendulum swings

Deeper through the chest.

Insouciant appearing,

Lacerations searing,

Tickling tender nerves

And numbing all the rest.

Revelry in laughter

Midst superficial chatter,

Ticking ever onward

And bleeding fibers pale.

Gaiety and madness

In masochistic gladness,

Sinking through the heart,

Defiant shallowness impaled.

 

 

 

 

 

The Bleeding Spot

Thoughts pass

Unfazingly through my consciousness,

Falling ineffectively

Outside my bleeding spot.

The centerpiece,

The open wound from my crown of thorns

Constantly prickling

My most tender aspects.

Soaking out

To infect every fragment of my mind.

Aggravating peace

And re-shaping my disposition.

Never healing,

The abrasion too painful to touch,

Pulsating madly

At the suggestion of sensation.

Reaching in,

Only to tickle it for a moment

Sends it gushing

And pouring down my tear-spout.

Let it out.

Empty this swollen mass of trauma

Little by little

Until it’s finally gone forever.