Hurricane

I’ve never been one to mind a little rain.

Everything needs a little water to grow.

It’s when the hurricanes hit that I begin to quake.

A little rain won’t hurt they say,

but what do you do when you’re drowning?

Drowning in despair, emotions, thoughts

with no idea when or why the storm had to strike now.

Maybe you’ll get some false hope

in an eye of the storm where

you’ll let yourself believe

that it can get better; it will get better

only to be hit by the other half of the storm,

far more furious than the last.

All you can do is bunker down and stay inside,

hoping that this storm won’t be your last.

But that’s hard to do when you know at the end,

when the sun decides to make a reappearance,

you’ll be faced with the devastation and despair

that came from the havoc and furry of the beast.

It’s hard to let yourself rebuild everything up

when you know that at any moment

another hurricane could strike and tear you right back down.

I’d like to believe that horrible cyclones are few and far between,

but I’m more realistic than that.

Whether I intended to or not, I have to realize

that my life has set its roots on the coastline

and I am forever destined to keep being hit

by bad hurricanes over and over

and the only way out is to either succumb

or get my shit together and move out,

but that’s a lot more strength than you’ll find

behind these batters doors .

Silenced

I am broken,

but silenced.

I feel pain,

but hide it.

I spiral down

but can’t fight it.

I feel emotions

but can’t describe it.

I think bad thoughts

but conceal them.

I paint a picture

but only half.

I need help

but can’t find it.

I’m ignored.

I’m silenced.

Who am I to Believe?

Who am I to believe

that I can help others

find their place in the world

when I can’t even

find one of my own?

 

Who am I to believe

that everyone should dream

and pursue those dreams

when I can’t even

find one of my own?

 

Who am I to believe

that there is good in the world

and it is a joy to be here

when I can’t even

want to stick around?

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

I’m Sorry

I’m sorry for always falling short.

I’m sorry for the disappointment I cause.

I’m sorry for taking up time.

I’m sorry for being a problem.

I’m sorry for being less than what you deserve.

I’m sorry for not being what you want.

I’m sorry for being ugly.

I’m sorry for being fat.

I’m sorry for not being good enough.

I’m sorry for being me

and I promise that I’ll stop.