Aside

I Am Free

I am nothing but a soul trying to find peace
I have been beaten down to no return.
My mind is fragile, my confidence scarred
Think positive, but all I produce is negative
I feel as if I wander looking for something
Something that I cannot find
I search I search I search
I crawl, I walk, I run
Happiness, I guess that’s what I’m searching for
Or maybe it’s peace,
Hope, Or love
Love for myself once again
Love for me and my being.
I am locked. Trapped like an animal.
I try to claw my way out
But instead I end up being buried alive
I am suffocating.
It is debilitating, crushing.
Why oh why did this happen to me?
I suppose it was just a twist of fate.
If only I could see a little light
And breathe a little bit of fresh air
Maybe then this feeling will wash away
And I can finally say

I am free.

The Painting

The thought of life gives me the chills, the shakes, the nerves, and everything in that category and some in between. There are so many changes, and I’m not sure how to digest them all. I categorize the changes instead, from least worrisome to the most worrisome. The ones that I can deal with.. and the ones that I feel that I cannot. It’s just life, I know. I have so many people surrounding me and supporting me, but sometimes the loneliness still strikes. It strikes so hard that it reverberates in my bones and it ricochets into my mind. In and out these thoughts flow. In and out my breathing goes as it gets faster and faster and more shallow. Everything becomes sensitive.. I try to remain cool, calm, and collected.. But, how? How, when it feels like everything is so far gone.

I close my eyes and try to imagine a new reality. One where the sunrises are vivid and the sunsets look like a beautiful canvas painting. I try to paint myself smiling, happy, and with eyes that are filled with glee. In my mind, the world looks bright. The colors are stunning and bright, just like my endless possibilities. The artist of this world is one that knows how to paint a beautiful picture. The artist in my mind knows how to paint situations to mask the real emotions. Slap a happy green, yellow, or purple over those drab blues and greys that have taken over my mind. Paint a face with a beaming smile to cover that frown. The artist in me has to make sure that smile has teeth showing, though. The artist has studied her audience a lot. She has learned that her audience, everyday people, think you are the happiest when you smile with teeth. Alas, the artist in me says she is finished with the current project. She tells me to open my eyes. I open them, and I think that I will see a gorgeous painting in front of me. Instead I see a painting that I do not want to see. I see a painting of a world that is ugly. The colors are mute and depressing. Instead of drowning my problems in the painting, they are showcased. I thought the artist in me was going to paint over this! I thought she was going to give me something happy and joyful. Instead I am left staring at a painting of my own problems, insecurities, and emotions that I wanted to cover. Perhaps it is time to stop covering them, but instead face them. Face the hideous colors as they are.

Daddy

hey daddy. It’s me, olivia. You know, your youngest daughter. Do you remember?

I can tell it takes you a minute to recognize me. Well, I go to MC now. I’m a junior and an english literature major. Do you remember when I told you that?

I’ve missed you so much, daddy. I hope that you have missed me, too. The smallest things make me think of you and our memories. Oh please daddy say you remember.

you’ve changed. You’re a different person now. You still have the same gentle soul, but now you possess a broken mind. What happened, daddy?

Do you remember yourself before we were told you have early on set dementia? Do you remember when you taught me how to ride a bike? Do you remember when you helped me with my science projects? Do you remember my high school gradation? Daddy, please remember.

It breaks my heart to see you live like this. In a constant state of inner turmoil and confusion.

But daddy sometimes you show flickers of who you used to be. Sometimes you are who you were.. But only for a few seconds. I wish that those times would last forever. Daddy, I know you’re still here. Are the memories tucked away somewhere?

You speak and try to make conversation. Your words are jumbled and you now have a stutter. Sometimes I wish that I could just grab you and shake you so you would be back to normal!

Daddy! Daddy! Why did this have to happen to you?

Some days feel so hard daddy. Some days it feels like I just can’t do it anymore. Can you hear me daddy? Will you remember what I’m saying?

Please, if you don’t remember anything else, just remember that I love you.

And I know you love me to

Alive

I am alive, I am alive

Don’t I feel the wind in my hair?

the sunlight on my skin

Don’t I see the way the earth envelopes me?

The wet grass on my feet

the bee that flies around me

All offer some sort of warmth because

My soul has grown cold

and my heart has grown heavy.

My mind has become clouded

And I am nothing  but angry.

Save me from myself

Because I am my own worst enemy.

Where are the tears that constantly stream down

my eyes?

Each one is a little reminder.

“Stop crying stop crying!”

I tell myself constantly.

What good will crying do?

Puffy cheeks and red eyes are all I see in my reflection

 As I try to comfort and remind myself that

I am alive, I am alive

 

 

19

19.

Stuck between being a woman and being a child. She can’t help but live the fast life.

Dress to impress. Short shorts short skirts short shirts. Make sure you put your confidence on today.

Slather your red lipstick on, put on your glass facade. Your face is never complete without a smile; even if it’s fake. Never let the tears that stream down your beautiful face show.

Fake it till you make it. Fake it till you make it. Fake it till you make it.

Late nights are the regular. Doing God knows what.

“Take a hit of the blunt. Take a drink of the booze. ”

the fast life is all she knows.

But when does she realize it all comes to a screeching halt? When is the game over? When does the facade crumble?

Until then she keeps living her life, at the tender age of 19.

But she keeps getting caught between being a woman

and a child

 

Girl with an afro

I’m just another girl with an afro.

“Why don’t you comb it?” “Why did you decide to cut all of that long, pretty, straight hair off?” “Why would you want to look like that?”

Who would’ve thought there’d be so much criticism for wearing my hair the way it comes out of my head? I celebrate my hair and all of its kinks and coils. Why would I want to hide it? But, I’m just another girl with an afro.

I celebrate my hair, why can’t you? The snarky comments and the negativity are not needed. Your dirty looks and crassness are not warranted. I wish your opinion of my hair was asked for. Perhaps then your opinion would be valued.

But, I am just another girl with an afro.

 

City Feels

The red lipstick I wear stuns

As I sashay and strut down the city

The heads and the faces of the people turn

But I have no care

My mind only focuses on the present

And never the past

My body sways with the wind

As the cold bites my face

The city lights are like a carnival

Around me

They highlight my features

They create beautiful shadows

The people and their energy electrify me

I feel liberated; unchained

My being is left to roam this earth

My soul is left to frolic

My eyes bounce from place to place

And person to person

My senses are going through overload

But I have no complaints

The city captures me

The walk and the talk

The music and the art

The realities and the illusions

The fantasies and the tales

Are all here

But eventually

I fall back into my reality

I realize again

I am just another person in this great

Sea of people

I am just another spirit wandering these streets

Never Return

The moonlight paints the ground before her with distorted shadows of the objects before her. The trees hang over her with a certain eeriness. She said it feels as if they are whispering about her, as if they are watching her. Her tender, bare feet leave perfect imprints in the dirt. A swirl of dust kicks up by her feet as she runs. The dark night seems to envelope her. She’s searching and searching as she runs further and further into the dark woods. The cold air fills her lungs. Her tears are streaming down her face and her eyes begin to sting. What happened to her? She spins around and lets out a cry. A cry for help, a cry of sorrow, a cry of grief. But the only things that hear her are the ever present moon and the night stars. Her screams bounce off of the trees, and the night sky with such a force that even shakes her to the core. Her echo is one that can be heard for miles. Her only solace is the one she thinks is above.

What is she running from? Why is she trying to hide? She finds that she is searching. Perhaps she’s searching for herself. Perhaps she’s searching for her own soul. She runs deeper and deeper into the woods, not knowing where she goes. Her hands are dirty, her feet are hurting. Her skirt has been ripped to shreds, exposing her bare legs. They are scratched and dirty. The blood is running down. Her face is now red. Her head is still spinning.

She can hear, but she can not see. She is nothing but a lost girl. A girl who’s running and running but can not find what she is looking for. She runs and thinks that she is so close, but she is always so far away. She’ reaching and reaching, but keeps straying further into the darkness. The silence is something that is killing her. It is something dreadful. The silence makes her think. The silence makes her realize. It’s too late to return now. It’s too late to go back. So she just keeps going, with the little power that remains. She keeps going, until she has nothing left.

Ashes

The ashes are still fresh. There’s a cigarette that’s barely lit, smoke gracefully flowing through the air. My heart tells me you stayed. But, my mind knows better. I roll over, and all I see is your indent. The place where your body once was.

You left not too long ago.

I can’t help  but clutch your pillow, the smell of you is still there. It’s intoxicating, it’s nauseating. The sheets are a tangled mess among me, and so are my emotions. You have me and my body wrapped around your finger. You have a piece of my heart. You have left an imprint on my soul. My mind wanders back to last night as the warm tears stream down my eyes.

The way your fingers glided across me felt like electricity. The glisten in your eyes gave me a high. The way you spoke to me made my skin shiver. You have me mesmorized. You have my every move calculated.

The morning after leaves me bitter. That joyous ecstasy is gone. The high is no more. The crash is unbearable. The hurt has rattled me to my bones. Every being of me is in unbearable pain.

I stumble to the bathroom, utterly terrified to look at my reflection. The harsh, artificial light paints a horrible picture all over my face. I am disgusted with myself. How could I let you do this to me again? How could I believe all of those hollow words all over? The girl looking back at me is disappointed. I repeatedly get my heart ripped out by you like clockwork. It’s a never ending cycle of joy and pain. I love you, I do. But I also despise you.

I try to get myself together for the day ahead of me. I clean up the running, black mascara. My cheeks are puffy, and red from the leftover blush. My lipstick is long gone. I fix my matted afro just as the phone rings.

It’s you again.

Asking if I want a repeat of last night. You say you enjoyed yourself. The words that come out of your mouth sound like a beautiful poem. They are a melody. They ring throughout my ear and bounce around in my mind. An excitement comes over me. My mind tells me no, but I hear myself say yes.

I know I will regret this. It’ll be another morning of tears, anger, and regret.

But, there’s something in me that can’t stop making a deal with the devil.

My Reality vs My Story

I’ve always been a dreamer. I would create these worlds in my head that were highly detailed. There were different characters, and different situations. Usually these dreams would reflect how I wished my life would be. I’m sure everyone does this to a certain point. But for me I wouldn’t just imagine these dreams in my head. There would be so many nights when I would be alone in my room acting out these scenarios. I would laugh and cry on cue. I wasn’t Olivia anymore. I was whatever character my dream would require me to be. It was a way for me to become whatever I wanted to be. It was a way for me to distance my own self from my problems, and my life. But, the lines between my fantasy and my reality began to cross. I would find myself being excited to act out my story (that’s what I used to call it). I would rush to my room and just begin acting out the scene I had in my head. I did begin to pull away from my friends. My story became my life. It was all I needed. I could escape reality for however long I wanted to. It began to turn unhealthy, though. Now, I almost use it as a coping mechanism. If things are going awry in my life, I’ll retreat back into my story. It’s my security blanket. The characters and the life I have created mean something to me. But, I feel that I need to let it go. It’s a way for me to avoid my problems instead of facing them head on. My twisted logic is that I have my story so reality doesn’t matter. My story begins to become my reality. The essence of my characters and the real true me are hard to decipher. But, every time I think of letting of my story it brings me deep sadness. I always think that I’ll have nothing to fall back on when things aren’t going the way I want them to in my real life.

I’ve been searching for other outlets to rely on instead of escaping from reality in such a harsh manner. Maybe acting or writing more or painting. But, I haven’t found anything that gives me as much comfort and satisfaction as creating my story.