Poetry and Such

[trouble.muffin]

I need to get back into writing regularly. When I was in the habit of it before (feels like ages ago now), poetry came most naturally to me. I wasn't pleased with everything I wrote, but a lot of it was extremely helpful for releasing the anxieties and self-critiquing that I tend to stuff as deeply internal as possible. I vent about the little things often, but guard my darkest demons and most crippling insecurities with my life. This is kind of ironic, because those which I hide are the emotions that actually hold real danger. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but if I keep serious stress pent up for too long, the explosions of release get... ugly. To avoid that, I'm going to try to force myself to write again. *glares at hand, shakes it in attempt to wake up muse*

I'll start with typing up some of my older stuff to help get the creative juices going, but am currently writing bits and pieces here and there. I will post new stuff as soon as I deem it worthy. Hopefully my babbling doesn't make you groan too much!

Spoiler: A list, because those are helpful. 

Older Stuff

Spoiler: Cyclical 

Here we are again,
the beginning of the end.
A place all too familar,
though different every time.

Spoiler: Black (originally intended to be a song) 

She's dripping through your veins,
and while your drifting off I can feel your life slipping away.
She comes by many names:
Oxy, morphine, heroin; but you know that they're all just the same.
You tell me you need her to numb your pain,
but she's why you're so sick in the first place.
With every hit you take I watch you go to waste
and somehow, I still feel to blame.

My love could never save you, as hard as I did try.
Instead I got to watch the human in you die.

Spoiler: A Cynical Realization (not a poem, also not very good.) 

People will always try to tell you there's a chance to succeed, some method that will erase all wrongs and start over fresh. They will insist there's a reason to live, and not just exist, but to strive for greatness. They will not accept the idea of a life being superfluous or expendable. But what happens when all attempts have been made, all options explored, and still nothing changes? What happens when everything falls apart? There comes a point when all that's left to do is step outside of yourself and watch the world burn.

Spoiler: not a poem, and without a title 

She sat in her room, propped between her bed and dresser, her empty eyes focused on nothing in particular. "Only a matter of time left," she mumbled. "Only a matter of time." She let her knees fall to the side and rest on the floor, pushing the back of her head into the old oak dresser. Though her slacken face held no emotion, the streaks of mascara on her cheeks remained as evidence of her earlier meltdown. Her left arm lay limply at her side, so matted with blood that it was impossible to tell where one gash ended and another began. In her right hand, she still clutched the sticky razor, a warm stream of blood trickling from her fist where the metal bit into her palm. She let out a sigh. "This is it," she announced to the empty room, the fog in her eyes thickening. She felt no anger, no pain, no sorrow. However, she felt no relief, either, no joy at the prospect of her plight finally coming to an end. Had she been able to think clearly, this would have confused her. Instead, she just sat there, thinking nothing, feeling nothing, slipping further and further out of consciousness.

More Recent

Spoiler: A Letter to My Son 

Baby, I have held you,
if only in my mind.
While weighing the options before me
at the tender age of fourteen,
you were there, propped on my hip,
cooing in the most endearing way.

Baby, I still hear you
and know your phantom cry.
The ghostly padding of tiny toes
forever haunts me, resonating
deep in the shadows of my heart,
where you took your first and only steps.

Baby, I still see you
and tremble at the sight.
I will never forget looking over
at your delicate body, now mangled.
My most atrocious deed, and I knew
part of my soul died alongside you.

Baby, I'm so sorry
for ever feeling justified.
Afraid to see you grow up unhappy,
I denied you the chance to live at all.
They said keeping you would likely kill us both,
but I'm doomed to wonder if that's just my excuse.

Baby, I have loved you
always, even at that time.
I still yearn for you, mourning,
debating my own selfishness,
asking myself if it would've been more humane
to subject you to a life of pain or release from it.

I'm having trouble finding my notebook full of old poetry. :( I hope it turns up, but will post some new stuff soon either way.

[Elizabeth16]

I can totally see Black expanding into a song!

[trouble.muffin]

It's still a work in progress, but it's nice to finally have at least one draft out. I've needed to write this for awhile.

This one is extremely personal, so please no hate on the subject matter. I don't mind (actually, I encourage!) critiquing of the actual writing itself, but please, please, please no harshness about one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make.

Spoiler: A Letter to My Son 

Baby, I have held you,
if only in my mind.
While weighing the options before me
at the tender age of fourteen,
you were there, propped on my hip,
cooing in the most endearing way.

Baby, I still hear you
and know your phantom cry.
The ghostly padding of tiny toes
forever haunts me, resonating
deep in the shadows of my heart,
where you took your first and only steps.

Baby, I still see you
and tremble at the sight.
I will never forget looking over
at your delicate body, now mangled.
My most atrocious deed, and I knew
part of my soul died alongside you.

Baby, I'm so sorry
for ever feeling justified.
Afraid to see you grow up unhappy,
I denied you the chance to live at all.
They said keeping you would likely kill us both,
but I'm doomed to wonder if that's just my excuse.

Baby, I have loved you
always, even at that time.
I still yearn for you, mourning,
debating my own selfishness,
asking myself if it would've been more humane
to subject you to a life of pain or release from it.

[JJP573]

very sad and indeed very personal. losing a child is one of the hardest things i can imagine. its good writing. very emotional and strong.

[JJP573]

Your letter has inspired my own poem basically based around the thought of losing a child. I hope you don't find it at all disrespectful.

"My thoughts dance at what you could have been
If a full life you had been given

Oh joys that you could have had
Oh the things that mad you sad
All the pains that scar your soul
All the love that made you whole
And the family I could have raised
I would have been so amazed

It's a thought I cannot forget
I find my heart filled by regret"

[trouble.muffin]

I was really pleased with some of my later entries to the Writers' Marathon this RPApril. Writing at least 250 words per day certainly has its benefits! Now comes the process of transferring some of those pieces here so they're easier for me to find, starting with this:

Spoiler: Overgrown Garden / Farewell 

I hadn’t visited in weeks, and it showed before I even reached her door. My grandmother’s flower bed was overrun with the weeds she could no longer crouch to pull out of the ground. Someone should have been maintaining it for her, I thought angrily, though I was reluctant to admit that I lived closest. Her once-proud daffodils now drooped, their pretty faces wilted and decaying. I couldn’t stand the sight of her overgrown garden. It was too much like what I’d find inside, and I almost turned to run back to the car rather than face it. Guilt pushed me forward. I knew she’d most likely be too out of it to tell me apart from my aunt, but everyone had warned that there wasn’t much time left to visit. After she passed, she wouldn’t remember whether it was her daughter or granddaughter who had come to see her in her final days, but I knew that I would. I forced myself onto her porch.

It still felt weird not knocking. During the past few months, Grandma hadn’t gotten out of bed much—and not at all for at least three weeks. One of my uncles had made several copies of her house key and handed them out to the family with instructions to just let themselves in and lock up on their way out. It was safer than leaving a key in some predictable spot outside, but it still felt intrusive. Some of my first memories were of my grandmother bustling to the door and squeezing me into a hearty hug with a cheerful welcome (and usually a spatula or some other cooking utensil in one hand). There was no such greeting today, nor would there ever be again. I sighed and shuffled down the hall, trying not to look at the dusty picture frames lining the walls on my way to the master bedroom. Most were shots of my cousins and I, though some were of our parents. A few even featured my grandfather before the heart attack took him. All were of better times, before the family had grown up and apart.

There was a sickly smell towards the end of the hall, almost like the taste of mucus in the back of my throat. After I pushed open my grandmother’s bedroom door, the odor intensified and nearly made me gag. A candle sat on her bedside table, the wick long burnt out. Had she been in even a slightly better state, it and at least two others would have been lit. Grandma’s house had always smelled like lavender, roses, and whatever she was baking at the time; everything about this was wrong. Her cheeks were sunken in and her eyelids had darkened even more since the last time I’d visited, though from what I heard, she’d been sleeping the entire time.

She had slipped into a coma a few weeks ago, something many of us were grateful for. At least in a coma she couldn’t feel pain, we theorized. The months and years leading up to this had been agonizing for her. She’d already been in remission twice, but the cancer kept coming back in new areas. This last time had been her ovaries, and the doctors had told them sadly that there wasn’t much else they could do for that particular strain. Grandma had told them not to do anything at all; she was done. The fight had been long and valiant, but she was ready for it to be over. From the looks of it, it wouldn’t be long. I had to stare at her chest for a moment just to make sure it was still rising and falling. The pauses between her breaths were nerve-wracking.

After a couple minutes of this torturous watching, I leaned in to give her a kiss. “Hi, Grandma,” I choked, my face growing hot. “Sorry it took me so long.”

A rustling in the corner made me turn, startled. My aunt must have been napping in the big, billowy chair my grandma had always kept covered in pillows. She stood and stretched, wiping her baggy eyes. “She wouldn’t have known the difference anyway, sweetheart.” My aunt came over to hug me before checking the time and going over to the dresser to prepare my grandmother’s medication. It was more storage for pills than clothes anymore. The top of it was still covered in plastic bottles from everything she’d been prescribed during chemotherapy, though the only things she took now were painkillers and something to relieve the nausea caused by so many painkillers. My aunt gathered them quickly and then turned Grandma onto her side.

“What are you doing?” I asked when she lifted the back of my grandma’s nightgown.

“Well, she hasn’t been awake to swallow for a while, so we had to switch to suppositories.” My aunt replied with a grimace, inserting the pills. She pulled Grandma’s gown back into place and kissed her as she tucked her in. “I’m gonna go wash my hands,” she said before walking out of the room. I heard her heels clicking down the hallway and wondered why she even bothered to wear them. Perhaps she'd forgotten to pack other shoes, or that they were even still on her feet.

I took my grandmother’s hand into my own and caressed the wrinkled top of it. The veins in her arms were still puffy and dark from so many IVs. Her thin, pale skin didn’t do much to conceal them. I squeezed her hand softly, wishing she at least had the strength to squeeze it back. No response came, and once the first tears escaped, I could no longer hold back. “I love you, Grandma.” I sobbed before letting myself go completely. I didn’t want to crush her torso, so all I hugged was her arm as I cried, my shoulders shaking and the snot pooling at the edge of my nostrils before falling in heavy drops. It wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t have been possible for such a beautiful and exuberant life to have such a dismal end.

My aunt came back in and sighed. I must not have been the first of our family to be found in this way. She kneeled beside me and rubbed my back with one hand. “Oh, honey,” she said sadly. “You know if Grandma was awake she’d tell you to knock that off.” I forced an awkward chuckle in response.

“True,” I admitted, regaining my grip over these intense emotions. It would be better to cry at home, where it wouldn’t worry anyone. I wanted to spend at least half an hour with my grandma first, though. Even if she had no idea I was here, it could very well be my last visit. I held her hand the entire time, stroking her bony knuckles and sagging skin.

My aunt and I attempted some small talk, but failed. The room fell eerily quiet, with only the clicking of my aunt’s knitting needles and my grandma’s raspy breath to break the silence. I didn’t remember my aunt knitting before; she must have taken up the habit to occupy the hours she spent watching her mother die. It looked like she was knitting little baby shoes, but I couldn’t even think of anyone pregnant in the family. Maybe she had a friend who was expecting, or maybe she really did just want anything to take her mind off of the tasks to come. Administering suppositories to her own mother had to be more enjoyable than the phone calls and preparations she’d had to make recently—letting everyone know that they’d have to visit soon if they wanted to see Grandma again, finding a new home for the little dog who had kept her company since Grandpa died, making arrangements with Hospice… it all seemed so depressing, and I knew it only got worse from here.

After a while, I decided it was time to go. Feeling even more disheartened than when I’d arrived, I kissed my grandmother on each concave cheek and rose to leave. I bid my aunt goodbye, but couldn’t bring myself to say it to my grandma. It felt too final, like verbalizing it sealed her fate more than it already was. As I locked the front door behind me, I knew it was for the last time.

The dried-up daffodils swayed and brushed my legs on the way to my car, almost as if they were waving farewell.

[trouble.muffin]

Spoiler: Sandstorm / Waiting for Sunrise 

The gym had been transformed into an EDM venue for the night and was already crammed to capacity. They were still letting people in with ticket prices jacked up another five dollars. Once you had a warehouse-sized building filled with underage drinkers and every narcotic under the sun, how much more trouble could violating a couple fire safety codes get you in? Sweaty, half-naked bodies pushed from one room to the next, checking out the different stages and seeing what trouble they could find for themselves.

The first room to the left upon entering the gym had all of the weights stacked in it to free up space everywhere else. It was completely dark to discourage anyone from going in there, and had the doubled benefit of almost giving the appearance that nothing was going on here. The music would have to be shut off for anyone to believe that, of course, but if need be, it could be done as a last ditch effort to avert the police. From here it was a cacophony of dance music. The two closest stages drowned out the others slightly but were meshing horribly together—happy hardcore and DnB didn’t really complement each other too well. The distinct sounds of jungle and trance were a little farther off, but still recognizable. After a timeless wait and thorough search through my bag by the “security,” who was really just some producer’s girlfriend looking to come up on some free drugs, we finally got our tickets and made it into the over-packed hallway.

The happy hardcore was being spun in the aerobics room to the right, which seemed pretty fitting since it looked like everyone in there was bouncing nonstop. The ecstasy wasn’t hitting me hard enough yet to dance like a first grader on a sugar rush, so I pointed to the next door. My boyfriend pulled me in for a quick kiss and split off here, wanting to start his first sweep through the event as soon as possible to make our entry cost back. We had already agreed (after much insisting on my part) that I wouldn’t have to help him hustle this time. I was sick of pushing drugs every time we went out; I just wanted to dance again like old times, before he had gotten so deep into the dealing. I spared one last look at him, knowing that I probably wouldn’t see him again until the end of the night. He was already leaning in to ask some dude against the wall if he needed anything. Shaking my head sadly, I left him to his business and made my way further into the venue.

At the end of the hall to the right was a staircase leading to the other two stages. On the left was a racquetball room, which had been transformed into the “DnB Den” for the evening. I ducked under the miniature doorway and was instantly blasted with the putrid smell of burnt DMT. I loved smoking DMT, but the smell of it was enough to drive me away when in such a condensed space. Setting a fart ablaze would put off a more pleasant aroma. Even though the DJ was spinning a remix one of my favorite Netsky songs, I couldn’t handle the smell. I went upstairs to continue my search for the perfect stage. The jungle DJ was dropping something extra crunchy, but what I heard from the trance room drew me in.

Sandstorm was playing—one of the songs that got me into EDM in the first place. With a dopey grin plastered on my face, I shoved as near to the stage as I could and started dancing. A couple minutes in, I felt the tingling euphoric sensation creeping from my chest to my extremities that always let me know my roll was coming on. The moment was almost perfect. All it lacked was my dance partner, but I knew better than to hope for that anymore. I was too busy feeling the music and my elevated state of consciousness to let that bother me for now. I poured my heart into my arms, my soul into my hips and let the music take over. After about an hour, I needed a break, so I took a quick walk to check out the other stages again, just to make sure I wasn’t missing out on anything. When I got back upstairs, the sets had switched, and this DJ specialized in PsyTrance, one of my favorite sub-genres. The same grin reappeared as I pushed into the trance room, feeling rejuvenated enough to get back on the dance floor.

Sometime around midnight, the need for rehydration became very real. Not wanting to spend two dollars on bottled water, I searched for a fountain. There had to be one somewhere—this was usually a gym, after all. I had no luck upstairs, so headed down to the main floor in hopes of checking near the bathroom. I was smacking hard at this point, and had to pause on the staircase to steady myself on the rail. My eyes were practically vibrating with the energy pulsing through me, and even just breathing felt amazing. The sweat from hours of dancing made me clothes cling to my body, and the cool dampness of them reminded me why I had left the trance room to begin with. I giggled at myself a little and continued my quest.

The push through the crowded hallway seemed to last hours, but near the end I could see a drinking fountain outside of the bathrooms, just as I suspected. I almost felt victorious until I saw the length of the line for it. From a distance, it had almost looked like the line to buy tickets, but now that I was here it was obvious that the dozens of people were waiting for a drink of water, and everyone was taking their sweet ass time when they finally got to it. I groaned and made my way to the back of it, hoping I wouldn’t have to wait until the party was over to get a drink. At this rate, that was looking very possible. I gave it about fifteen minutes before throwing my hands up and just going into the bathroom to drink out of the sink. It was gross, but I was desperate. There were at least twelve stalls in there, but for some reason, the couple who came in here to get dirty nasty chose the closest one. I wrinkled my nose at their inconsiderately loud antics and rushed to the sink for relief. The water was heavily chlorinated and normally would have made me gag, but I gulped it down greedily.

Figuring it’d be better to use the restroom now rather than shoving through the congested venue again, I walked to the furthest stall from the one with two sets of shoes beneath its door. As I flushed the toilet, it sunk in that I recognized one of those pairs of shoes. My heart stopped and then sank, hot tears welling in the corners of my eyes. I felt my breathing quicken, but tried to tell myself to calm down until I saw for sure who was in that stall. Even as I waited awkwardly inside the bathroom, I already knew I was right. It didn’t take long--he never lasted for shit, the selfish prick.

Rage replaced the euphoria I had been enjoying up until this little bathroom break as my boyfriend stepped out of the stall. He shot me a sheepish look, some guilty cross between a deer in the headlights and a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, shit,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” I spat, at a loss for any other words. This wasn’t the first time he’d been busted. A quick glance behind him proved that it wasn’t even the first time with this particular bop. The shameless little slut smirked at me, fuckin smirked, like this was a game that she’d just bested me in. If she thought that scumbag was any sort of prize, she could go ahead and “win” him. I whirled away from them and stormed out of the restroom. Knowing there was an 80% chance that our friend who had driven was in the smoking area, I headed there. I had to get away from this venue, fast. He was propped against the wall outside with a cigarette in his mouth, just as I suspected. I wiped any lingering tears from my cheeks before approaching him and asked, “Can I have your keys, please? I promise to just sit in the car.”

Alex gave me a questioning look and handed them over. “Is everything okay?” he asked. I didn’t want to spoil the rest of the party for him, especially since it was probably about to be a dramatic and awkward car-ride home. I nodded and spewed some shit about being tired. I was wide awake, but it was still true, in a way. There was no way I could take any more of that junkie piece of shit’s games. I took the side exit from the party, which meant I couldn’t reenter. This committed me to heading to the car instead of going back in there and ripping that cheating scumbag’s throat out like I wanted to. I got there and locked myself in, regretting ever leaving the house. I curled up in the back seat and lay there sobbing, wishing for home. Not the apartment I slept in the living room at, but home. My parents, in a desperate effort to protect me from the duechebag who was still wreaking havoc in my life, had given me the ultimatum of moving out or breaking up with him. I had packed my bags, like a dumbass. The pills were likely intensifying my emotions, but my sorrow was like a boa constrictor that night, wrapping around to slowly suffocate me before it swallowed me whole. I battled it the best I could as I cried in the car, waiting for sunrise.

[trouble.muffin]

Spoiler: Your Smile 

There is a certain gift you throw my way
When I walk through the door at the end of the day.
Same as the one that first set me aflutter,
A spell you cast with not a single word muttered.

Of all the many ways you enhance my life,
It is the simplest, yet eases such strife.
It costs you nothing, but means more than you think,
A tall glass of hope I’m so eager to drink.

Some days I feel so unchangeably stuck,
Like a unicycle with its wheel trapped in muck
Your smile reminds me that I’m not alone
In this struggle that grinds many down to the bone

You introduced me to musicians like Neil Young,
Who taught me every junkie is a setting sun.
Every day I’m thankful you rose again
To prove that even a lingering wound can mend.

You give that same strength it took to recover
With the amount of affection poured into your lover.
Being on the receiving end of it all
makes everyday problems feel so small.

It still catches me rather off-guard
When my heart begins slamming my ribcage so hard
If your smile alone can give me such bliss,
Imagine my reaction to a single kiss.

I edited this one quite a bit, but am still not entirely happy with it.

[Sytis Ruin]

Spoiler: Silent 

Silent

The world has grown silent,
Time seeming to freeze in place.
Civilization growing darker,
Settlements abandoned in haste.
The people have fled,
Only to be captured by despair.
The protests no longer audible,
In this world with no air.
The darkness created to better,
Now leaving nothing in its wake.
The attempted pleas falling on deaf ears,
As it consumed all at an unimaginable pace.
The renewing of dawn never comes,
Blanketing everything in a coat of anguish.
The world has chosen to sleep,
In an eternally darkened state.

[trouble.muffin]

Cups, a window, your own phone;
While enraged, you broke everything.
Why did I think you'd be more careful with my heart?