Broken

She awoke with a start. She wasnt' breathing. Why couldn't she breathe? Scared and panicking she snorted air in through her nose. Good. It smelled awful and each intake was sore and headachy, like she'd just run a mile and couldn't take in the air fast enough through her sore and tortured lungs. She drank the air in like cool water except it was a hot hose on a summer day.  When her thirst for air was manageably sated, she moved her lips. If she moved them back and forth she could feel the sticky canvas backside of the duct tape over it. The more she wiggled the more freedom she gained, but such triumphs were small and increasingly frustrating. Her nose was broken, she was aware of that now. She could feel the splintering and swelling. The swelling that made it so hard to breath in through her nose in the first place. Her hair was wet with sweat and blood. She could feel it sticking to her forehead and tiny tugs where blood had started to dry it to her skin like a scab as she tried to move her head around. The room pitched and vomit rose at the sticky sweet smell of her own blood and the blinding white pain behind her eyes as she reached unexpectedly the limit of her motion.
Her head bobbed there for a moment and it all sunk in very quickly. The itching feeling of the rope around her wrists and the burning where she'd been trying to wiggle free in her sleep.  A quick tug told her the efforts had caused her wrists to swell, any hope she had of slipping out was dashed. The shooting pain in her left arm let her know that when they'd been wrenched behind her it had been either strained or out and out broken. She'd have to worry about that later. She was on her knees on concrete. The tiny bits of gradient bit into her kneecaps and shins. So she was knelt on her knees but standing was impossible not just for the bounds around her legs, arms and hands but as the bonds were  connected. 


... Not sure what to do with this yet the first part came to me suddenly and the rest is fading a bit... maybe because i'm sick or maybe cause i don't want to go here...

Lines: On a quote by Oswald Chambers

"Doubt is not always a sign that man is wrong;
it may be a sign that he is thinking."


Can you prove it to me as true?
Can you let it exist through you?
Let me be proof of my beliefs.
If i close my eyes i can barely see.
Black and white should not define
the colours of my life.
Life is a curious thing.
We first run from it
afraid of the darkness it brings
Then cling to it and hold it inside
Like lovers hungry for more
Entwined inside this darkness
Our emotions hide
Pulling on yet pushing out
the bittersweet world it knows.
We want to change, to make things "right"
but what we find we no longer want.
If i close my eyes i can barely see
the person that i want to be
the person that i mean to be.
Through all my corse agitation.
Through all my rough jokes.
I want to be something i long ago lost that
My friends and i used to joke with
but now that is gone.
My situation is quite normal but that does not help.
i've loved someone, i'm sure of that now.
So what if he shuns my existence,
tells me lies?
(or at least he used to,
It was better like that.)

Wow... okay this was written way back in 1994 and my goodness it's so funny for me to think of the way i used to look at my life as being so long when i was so young... 

Lines: Written upon the occasion of being bored in Modern Philosophy

And yet,
in the darkness of the soul
we stop to have tea-time and discuss
our own reality.


What exists?
What creates?
What do i know?
Why can’t I stop thinking about…?


If i created myself and my reality,
then, why did i make it suck?
Why can’t I control my life?
Why does it matter to you,
after all you’re my creation.


“Whether or not there is such a thing as a ‘triangle’
it still has three sides.”
someone argues, and no one disagrees.


All the arguments presented to us this day
are only disproved by insanity but none of them know,
that a sane person in an insane world is just as mad.


...Okay that one is quite a bit old written way back in college i'm thinking fall of 1998 but still one of my favorite thoughts at the end.

Duct tape

There is a need inside for me
to control me
i must stay just like this
i must be this image
in this way
i kill myself
slowly
a little each day
i am a prisoner to what i expect me to be
though my hands wring in my bonds
till i bleed
i can't seem to let me free
i hear myself begging
to say things i shouldn't say
and so slowly i replace the duct tape
and muffle my own screams
though a knife a needle never break my skin
i can feel them enter in
manipulate that smile
spread those legs whore
don't you know this is what you're made for?
i abuse myself 
i lay myself open to attack and abuse
because...
right now i'm just me
the me you don't really get to see
the me i don't share
the me that i hide
that scared girl cowering in the corner
the teen learning to fight to survive
all those people i've had to be
laying scared inside me
knowing nothing but the abuse and the fight
and if i am the evil i can control 
live with the things i cannot say
live with the things i cannot fight
live with the me you expect me to be and can't

...Written recently and part of a trend in my writing that is going a bit outside my comfort area lately. I used to allude and hint and now they are just blunt, much more so the way i talk to a close friend and in the vein of some of the poetry i've been afraid to share that was written when i was younger. Maybe now... maybe here... is the place to do this.

i like your lie

not going there
don't dare to hope
it's not like it's really even a chance
it hurts so bad
this being close
but i see him and want to dance
shove it down
good girl choke on it
shut it up
he likes me?
push it further down girl
i can't hear you gag yet
those words don't happen
they just don't
i'm your fuck toi
i'm your girl
i'm your kitteh
i'm your pussy..hmm.. cat
i'm your wet dream
i'm your cumming scream
no one's ever jealous over me
i'm your duct tape
i'm your glue
you'll just walk out when you're through
don't play this game
don't lie to me
don't tell me you like me
fucken cum and get off me
no
don't take the armor off
just slip my panties to the side
not showing you this
not showing you where i hide
hold me now
i kinda like your lie


...Written about 2 weeks ago and when i looked back at it i was kinda shocked. It does everything poetry is supposed to do for me ... reveal me and leave me naked to myself long enough to understand what i was thinking. But it is a style i have felt vaguely uncomfortable sharing with all but my closest friends and that is beginning to feel like a deception.

Typical Poetry

I cannot dream; yet sleep be merry.
My nightmares thrive on paper; may the reader be wary.
Me peace a sweet garden; where others may tarry.
My life an eerie chord; that others may very.
To hide my nightmares i have tried hard.
To my real life for Them, the path has been barred.
Seeming to Them only as a card
Or to others, a local bard
Who by chance, can dance the galliard.
Awoken by fears, replaced by a rhyme.
Crying out just the same, silent as a mime.
Acting as if melancholy were it’s own crime.
Hope all will reveal itself in its own time.
Staring absurdly at the “a.m.” on my clock.
Quietly going over everything, taking stock.
Hope that others, this poem will not mock
even though i write these lines wearing only one black sock.


...Oldie but a goodie for me. It's the first poem i read to someone who asks about my poetry. Non-offensive and fun and it sounds like poetry when read aloud. Written at 3:02 am in 1997 sometime between high school and college. and as with all the ones i'll post here free form moments.