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?

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.

 

 

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?

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

Fairytales

I wish that fairytales were real

because that would mean that

dreams really do come true

just because you will them too

and patiently wait for them to happen

and everyone gets a happy ending,

even me.

But that’s just not the case.

Love is a sham

and the more you believe in it,

the more you’ll get hurt.

then again, if you don’t believe in love,

the world reveals it’s cold self,

and it’s miserable living there,

but so is living in a constant state

where you believe that any day now

you’re fairytale will come true

and your prince will finally love you.

Go ahead and pick you poison:

reality or an apple.

 

Dreams, Dreams, Dreams

Dreams. Dreams? Dreams.

They make us who we are.

They are what makes us into

unique individuals.

While others may have

similiar goals and hopes,

its the fine details

like a porch swing

or a two syllable name

that make dreams…different;

that make us…different.

The thing about dreams

is that dreams change.

They come and go.

They adapt to other dreams

from other people

whose dreams become yours.

But what do you do

when all your dreams

have long ago faded

and the little details

become forgotten memories?

How do you know that your dream

is actually your dream

and not just what someone else wants?

Girls Like You

It must be nice to be you.

Girls like you that look like that-

tiny, thin, attractive.

What society wants girls to look like.

It must be nice to be able

to talk about your weight

and weight loss with ease

in public settings like the pool.

But it’s not for me.

I know everyone has their struggles,

and a different mountain to climb,

but when you sit 5 feet from me

and complain about going from

104 pounds to 110,

and calling yourself fat,

it kills me inside.

You are so thin.

You re so confident.

You are so beautiful.

I would give almost anything

to deal with your dilemma.

Because as you stated,

girls our height are supposed to weigh

one hundred forty pounds max.

You may be far beneath that,

but I am far above that

and hearing you flaunt this fact

while I am in earshot

right after I just worked my ass off

discourages me.

I wish I could flaunt confidence

the way you can flaunt your stomach,

but I can’t. I’m insecure.

And my progress is slow

and a long journey awaits me.

But please, just please

let me feel comfortable

and supported

and empowered to take it.

Don’t slow me down.

I have an extra 100 pounds

to do that for me.

 

Tinkerbell

I’m very much like Tinkerbell.

I need attention or I’ll die.

Preferably positive.

OR at the very least to feel

like everyone important

in my small circle of loved ones

isn’t ignoring me.

I’m not asking for a party

or even to meet up.

Just a simple text

asking about my day

or to see if I’m okay…

because I’m not.

The Perfect Love Story

Someone asked me today

to describe the perfect love story

but the truth is you can’t.

There is no such thing.

Love is messy.

Love is unique.

Love is all over the place.

One story that may speak to me,

may speak differently to you

because we don’t have the same heart.

And the things I have felt

in my 21 years of experience

cannot ever be fully captured in words

no matter how hard I may try.

The truth is love is its own language

and it writes it’s own stories

that are intended for small, intimate audiences

and it’s not up to me to put it into words.

I cannot capture the full meaning

behind a smile’s joy

or certain looks given

or even laughs shared.

I cannot only feel the perfect love story

and hope people can catch a small glimpse

of it through my eyes

as I try to live the story.

Love is not a perfect story to be told.

Love is a life to live to it’s fullest.