One Day

Peoole crack Because of one scratch That one scratch Turns into a million other scratches Cause one injury is enough to recover from But if you hit a person Too many times With too many blows It will break The imperfection will be Completely noticeable And irreparable Until there is no way to fix That broken self But to dispose of it For a newer line Of finer quality That can better handle more blows

I thought the first debate wouldn't bother me. I was really excited for it. When I watched, I was worried Trump would make her look bad. I started laughing at some of his remarks against her. Then the debate took a wrong turn when she started talking about keeping guns from the mentally ill and that Trump was too emotionally incompetent to be president. I understood what I was worried about. That same gaslighting tactic was used against me to completely destroy my sense of self. Donald Trump, like Margaret Thatcher, is my mind. However it was much deeper. I was looking at a man being blamed for Cognitive Dissonance and labeled Bipolar. I was looking at myself and denying my shadow self. The reaction surprised me. I couldn't believe how many news outlets said she did well. I realized how mucn hatred I have had in my heart for being scorned for being different and now it is happening all over again. Society needs someone to blame I suppose but I never thought society would blame ...

Destruction is creation Only from death can life come My reality shattered A eternal recycling of self What am I striving for To reach a peak of creativity? To know all? To lose everything that matters to me and find something new? I realize I don't know my identity My own heart is foreign So my perceptions of people feel like lies and When I look in the mirror at myself I recognize myself a little less as every day goes by It's hard to live inside this world without offering your opinion Yet it feels virtuous and holy To minimize my effects on this world To absorb all of it's facets To explode from loneliness inside the silence If the purpose of life is to exist Then I want the universe to destroy me So I can feel God

A woman sat across from me. "Alright. This is what you are going to do. You are going to finish your Literature degree. You won't get accepted into graduate school right away because your grades are so low from all that medication you were taking. You will complete a certificate program in teaching and go back to graduate school just for the hell of it. Then you will become a teacher in California. He will meet you and you both will be married because he realized the error of his ways. You will be an excellent teacher and write a bestselling novel adored by millions. People will cherish your name when you die and move onto a better state of being. Your mission will be completed: enlightening the world to your unique way of thinking so they can elevate in spiritual conciousness." It was interesting when I woke up to remember my concious engineered this woman (an exact replica of myself) to tell me what I should do in my life and give me meaning for a physical reality t...

God you punish me Say it is in my best interest I don't know if I should feel guilty of sin Yet it moves through my blood Damn those who can forget their ills and woes For they are blessed in getting ahead in life Virtuous is he who acts in aggression To those who stand in his way Righteous is he who Blames everyone else for being wrong My father was a proud man He held his shoulders back as he walked Showcasing his biceps and his cock An eptiome of masculinity While I hide behind piles of books The library is nearly empty Faint sound of cars echoing outside There is so much to learn Not enough time to absorb it all If I push myself Will I someday find everything inside Good and pure? Or will I be still running away from my father? What would happen if I let him catch up to me? He would rape me All the books would fall apart This meaningless diploma Once held in my hand Burned to ash

There is beauty in everything There is beauty in the night Watching the street lamps shine Gazing at a myriad of glowing stars The echoes of crickets Cold sweeping onto your bones There is beauty in bed Your face blending with the dark The warm caress of your hands The absent space on the bed When you are far away There is beauty in humility Joy in the silence In a loud chorus of voices Pleasure in feeling small Virtue in being lost There is beauty in pain The freedom of losing your mind The painstaking effort Of putting yourself back together Just to tear yourself apart again There is beauty in surrender In the coming of death Beauty in the agitation of conflict Beauty in finding light in the darkness Beauty when you get up in the morning To try one more time As the sun rises on the horizon

There is a place called home I wish it were my reality The fuzzies of a warm cat Rubbing against your leg The comfort of a warm coffee The glow of a computer A lover Sharing the most Intimate parts Of themselves with you Not reality Which continually brings me out Into the cold light of the moon That is not my home That is not a world I know I once felt the confidence Of a 1000 Queens Inside my chest It is amazing How that confidence Can break away Into a nervous sweat

I am traumatized. Seeing Ozca brings fear into my body. She is a Muslim girl wearing a full hijab dress. I went to school with her. I do not remember how we had our falling out but the truth is, I am terrified of her. She hates me. Maybe the trauma was forgotten in my mind but the bodily sensation of seeing her brings back all the memories I had of being bullied by Brenda at Milton. I realize now that I was traumatized by previous bullying, academic stress and struggle with my stepdad yet I still feel like I may have gotten worse because of being put in a mental hospital against my will due to bullying by Porsha. It has made me learn not to trust people. I am terrified. I'll admit it. I wonder how long I can continue trying to actively ignore the memories of high school before my brain explodes in full blown terror of abandonment.