What is in My Soul?

When you look into my soul,

and I know you do because

I can feel you there,

what is it you see?

I like to believe that there is

something beyond the darkness

I’ve been feeling for a few years now.

I like to believe I go deeper than that;

I am multidimensional.

Perhaps you see my passion,

surrounded by persistence and loyalty.

Perhaps you see the youth

that my playful heart feeds off.

Perhaps you see soft, gentle colors

that depict all the kindness

I have to offer to others.

Or maybe you see the abundance

of love and compassion that I am

just dying to share with the world.

What is in my soul?

What do you see?

Is there hope for me yet?

Or has the darkness smoothered my light?

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Goodbye

I’m not quite sure

how to form the words

needed to say goodbye.

But even if I figure it out,

no one would hear them.

Everyone is too busy

to give me one last hug.

I will suffer alone.

Taking Things

I thought you were done taking things from me

when you stole my virginity 7 years ago.

But yet here we are, all these years later

and you’re still taking things from me:

My happiness

My hopes

My dreams

My soulmate

My chance of having someone love me.

I can’t have any of those things

because you ruined me; damaged me.

And now I’m so broken that

I can never have the one thing all always want.

After 7 years I finally realize

it’s never going to get better for me.

Fuck you.

 

 

The Rose

Today I will tell you the story

of a delicate rose who’s life

did not turn out as planned.

The Rose was planted in a garden

with hundreds of other roses.

Of course, she was not the prettiest.

She was plumper than the others

had a blemish or two on her petals,

and had a few extra thorns

to keep herself safe,

yet she believed in the same dream

as all the other roses:

that for someone she would be enough.

The Rose had spent many waking hours

hoping and dreaming of the day

when just the right person would

come along and choose her.

She wouldn’t allow herself to be picked

by just anyone walking by.

She wanted to be picked by someone

who would love her,

cherish her, adore her,

and take care of her until

her final day because, after all,

you can only be picked once.

She was fiercely determined to have

this dream come true more than any

other she had ever had.

But one day, a stranger came along

and right away she knew that he

was up to no go. He smelled of death.

She prayed as he began to slowly

examine each rose around her

that he would pick someone else

or hopefully, none at all so that

she and her neighbors could

all have their dreams fulfilled.

Unfortunately this evil stranger

set his devastating eyes on her.

Despite her begging and pleading

to be left alone, to not be picked,

he yanked her from the earth

aggressively, and against her will.

When the stranger picked  up The Rose,

he was pricked by many of her extra thorns

and threw her aside with disgust.

Sadly, The Rose was left plucked

and tossed to the side of the path

But still The Rose hoped that maybe,

someday, the right person would

come along and still be able to love

a rose that has already been plucked.

Alas, each day newer, kinder strangers

came into the garden and stepped over her

in search for a flower that

still had yet to be plucked.

The Rose continued to hold on,

holding in her heart a belief

that a truly good person

would come along and see

all the beauty she had to offer

to the world, even though she

had been damaged against her will.

One day, shortly after,

a man walked into the garden.

In The Rose’s heart, she knew with

almost as much certainty about this man

as she had had that the stranger that

had picked her was here to bring trouble,

that this new man was the one

she was intended to spend her life with.

This was the man who would take care of her

and appreciate her for the rest of her time.

He walked kindly through the flowers

and respected each and every one.

When he came to the Rose, simply

tossed aside, he bent over to pick her up.

The Rose’s heart beat with excitement

thinking that maybe, just maybe

she could still find happiness

and her dream could come true.

The man gave the rose a pitiful look

and said ” What a wonderful rose.

If only someone hadn’t already plucked you.

I only want a rose that I can pick for myself.”

With that, he laid the rose down delicately

amongst the other flowers

and picked a fresh, beautiful flower nearby.

The Rose’s heart fell.

She knew that this man here today

was her destiny: if only he had come

a week sooner, before her tragic event.

Then maybe, just maybe, life could

have worked out in her favor.

Instead, she lays amongst dirt and roots,

hidden by flowers still full of life and hope,

withering away to dried leaves and petals

waiting for the life to leave her worthless body

hoping that maybe in her next life

things will turn out better.

 

Spoilers

Life is a movie

that everyone wants to see.

But like a movie,

it has spoilers

and people further along

in the movie

can’t keep their mouths shut

and ruin your ideas

and thoughts

and plans

and hopes.

So if you know the movie

won’t end how you want,

why bother to keep watching?

It’s ruined in a way

you can never undo.

What do I Want

As my undergraduate career comes to a close

in less than three weeks from today,

I’m finding that the amount of people that

are asking me what my plans are for

after I graduate is increasing substantially.

But the truth is that I really don’t have an answer

to satisfy their curious minds because

I truly don’t know what I am going to do.

Believe me: it’s more frustrating than you know.

I would love to have just one simple answer

to give upon request, but the thing is

that is so much harder to achieve than I thought.

There are so many options at my fingertips

that it is hard to pick just one to follow.

I tried on one, and decided I didn’t like it

and now I feel stuck once again.

As the world I know around me rushes to a close,

I find myself lost in the whirlwind with no direction

and it fills me with an anxiety I can’t describe.

People confront me and I don’t know what I want.

Well, I do.

It’s just not…

I don’t know: A possibility? Viable? Realistic?

It adds to my frustration even more.

I know when people ask me what’s next for me

they want information about my upcoming career,

but I guess the truth is that

that’s not what is important to me.

I have other matters of the heart and soul

to take care of first and until those are met

I can’t focus on anything else.

But my time is running out

and so is the money in my bank account.

I know I need to make a decision.

The pressure is on, but will I be a diamond?

Or will I just crumble?

Connection

A connection is defined as

a person, thing, or idea

that is linked to something else.

But yet a connection

is something far deeper;

far more complex than just that.

A connection is something that

you can feel, something you can see.

A connection is undeniable.

When two magnets have

their north and south ends near,

it is hard to deny that there will

soon be a connection

that will be difficult to pull apart

once the two objects meet.

If you hold the two magnets

in separate hands, you will feel

the magnets pulling, longing

to be connected with the other.

I am like a magnet,

the north end perhaps,

waiting for my southern half

to feel the same tugging

at their heart.

It’s bound to happen eventually,

but how close do I have to get?

Lipstick on a Pig

You can put lipstick on a pig,

but guess what?

It’s still a pig.

So maybe if people continue

to call something

other than what it is

in your eyes,

even though you’ve tried

to cleverly disguise it as

something else entirely,

then maybe,

just maybe,

it’s time to admit you have a pig.

 

 

Author’s note: Please don’t actually refer to a girl as a pig. This is just a metaphor. She will not appreciate it.

 

The Last Time

I can’t recall the last time someone looked at me

and told me what they like about me.

I can’t remember the last time someone gave me

an ounce of hope that maybe I am pretty.

I can’t distinguish in my mind the last time someone

made me feel good about myself…

but I can sure as hell give you a list

of all the times someone told me the opposite