Damaged Goods

And she knows she probably should have never let herself need you this bad, 

But it was so comforting,

She was fragile, and not handled with care by the last hands that grasped her, squeezing her tightly into the confines of his perception of a 'relationship'.

So, she arrived to you misshapen and in pieces, molded to his ways to the point where she no longer resembled the photo on the box - that was merely what used to be. 

But you didn't care about the physical appearance, and you saw her as she was underneath his grooming and lies, underneath her trembling skin, 

And you saw her mind as it was before it went to war with itself.

She saw herself as a nuisance, a dust-collector on the shelf that is life; trained to believe that she was destined to do nothing correct, and that for her to smile meant that she was up to no good.

But you fixed her.

Soon, she began to believe that she could have hobbies and friends, and that her love of cosmetics did not label her as 'just a whore,' but as beautiful in her own, self-expressed, way. She began to tremble less at the thought of partaking in social interaction, as you showed her that it is a part of life, and no suspicion should arise from a friendly, "hello," in the street.

But still, ghosts haunted her memory and lingered over her every day, telling her she wasn't worth it, making her feel dirty, remembering the 3am phone calls she'd receive when he just wanted to make sure she knew she wasn't good enough.

She could feel the dust beginning to recollect. 

But you always picked her up, dusted her off, and placed her as your centerpiece, because to you, she was so much more than an ornament meant to waste away in the confines of the dark corner shelf he had placed her.

To you, she had purpose, and you wanted the whole world to see her shine.

She then bloomed like a flower, you her sun. She was queen of the world, or at least her world, and you her king. In a world full of ash and rubble, you are her diamond ring.

When she contemplates the future, you never leave her side. And when confronted with the “what if?”s that may leave her without you, she feels empty inside.

So she sits with her mind, and a pen in hand,

And she knows she probably should have never let herself need you this bad,

But it’s so comforting.

The Sky

I've always loved the sky,
It's enchanting aura has always given me a type of high.
The morning shades of champagne, turquoise and blue,
I always have loved those hues.
As morning turns into day,
And the sky wears a mask of blue-grey,
I won't worry in a dramatic way,
Because I know it's not here to stay.
As day fades to night with a pale yellow,
The night animals let out their calls and bellows.
Flashes of fuchsia and apricot paint the clouds,
The birds sing as they depart in large crowds.
And as I watch the lavender, violet, and plum with a sigh,
I know now why I've always loved the sky.

Roller Coaster

My doctor and I have discovered that my depression is like a roller coaster that's laced with ups and downs, and throughout this ride, the downs get deeper while the ups remain at the same, safe level of content.

During my downs, you could say that I become suicidal, but I do not wish to kill myself in the physical sense that others find oh so attractive, where there is such finality and your suffering is over. 

No, I long to be that kind of dead where you are still living, but not alive. The kind of dead where my days are spent in my dark bedroom hidden among my abyss of blankets, no longer existing in the "real" world. 

The things that once brought me joy will be pushed to the back of my mind like a shoebox full of pictures gets pushed to the back of a closet, just old times that are long gone. 

The downs in this roller coaster become gradually more soul-sucking, and the days spent alone in my own sorrow seem to last the duration of an eternity, 

but then there are the ups.

Although the "ups" don't last long or climb very high, they are still packed with the typical feelings of a roller coaster ride - The nervousness as you make the ascent from the deep low you've just been thrust out of, or as I like to refer to it: the first few days or weeks when I feel like I DON'T have to seclude myself in the vast emptiness of my cold bedroom and think the only place I will find warmth is in my blankets.

Then there's the part where you begin to feel like "this might be fun" as you keep climbing higher and higher toward the shining blue sky. To me, this section of the climb involves finding the shoebox in my closet and dusting off the pictures of me doing the things I love. I return to my favorite places and sing my favorite songs, and dance in my kitchen while I make myself breakfast on a Sunday morning. Because I can. 

And then there's the final stage of the climb, where, looking up, you see nothing but blue sky and suddenly you're not anticipating what will come next, but rather just taking in the peaceful serenity of your surroundings. I continue to bask in the glow of my happiness and become engulfed in activities that make me truly happy, and I no longer worry about the future, because I'm perfectly amazed and delighted in my right now.

It's amazing and I feel as though I'm the happiest I've ever been, and that I will never go down again - but then again, on a roller coaster, there's always that pang of excited adrenaline when you reach the peak... Before you begin your fall.

Purple

The color purple has always entranced me,
as though the thought of it would send
one thousand little visions through my head
of particular things that amuse me.

Thoughts of rain and wind and long summer nights,
and those of winter and snow and everything white
are not those that run through my head when I think of the color purple.

When I envision purple, the first thing I see
is a portrait of you and me
underneath that big oak tree.

When I think of the color purple I think of the dress I wore on our first date,
and how, when you dropped me off at home
you gave me that wink.

Or the day that we were wed,
and you said that you'd love me 'til you were dead.

Purple was always my favorite color,
and you loved that about me.
You'd give me jewelry and presents
of that particular hue,
and the more I imagine this shade,
the more I think of you.

You always loved how I wore lavender perfume,
and how under that oak tree, there was never any gloom.

Now
Sitting under that same oak tree,
I let my thoughts and my feelings run free.

The color purple floods my memories in shapes of you
and sometimes, thinking about it,
I become blue.
But I refuse to let that blue feeling sink in,
because I would rather feel the same way I felt with you.
So I'll feel the way that brings me back
to the day that I found my sweet Jack,
and the countless days and nights we've spent together,

and how our love lasted for his forever.

And so, on this cold day in April,
I'll feel purple.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 7, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem that refers to Romeo and Juliet

Untitled

He was her Romeo,

Soft brown eyes, warm smile,

And a heart of gold.

And she was his Juliet,

Bright eyes, long brown hair,

And a smile that could light up any room.

But their love was forbidden,

against the rules of society.

For she was in a higher social class,

and he just a man of the city.

But every night, they found each other

Whether it be in a back booth at the local cafe,

or on a side street where nobody would know.

Hotels, taxis, and discretion

Are all they know as lovers.

They long to be together,

But the thought of punishment still covers

their love, in a cloak of shadows

from the curtains in the hotel room in the rain.

But, one evening, lit by the glow of a bedside candle,

They decided they could no longer be apart,

And vowed to stay together, they way that they were,

Because no feeling, not even fear, is stronger than those of the heart.

So rather than getting dressed, and departing when the clock struck ten,

They laid in harmony and comfort,

For nothing could be sweeter just then.

For he was her Romeo,

And she his Juliet,

And this love story, neither of them will forget.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 6, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem using the title “Lines of Conversation”.

Lines of Conversation

         “Oh, hello there Beautiful”

Was when her smile got a little brighter

        “Would you like to dance?”

Was a phrase which gave her the shivers

        “I love you”

Became words that she could not live without

        “Will you marry me?”

Made her cry

        And “I do”

Made them both grow closer in love

Within these lines of conversation, between he and I,

you’ll find the most memorable moments of our lives...

Because in these lines, there are years of feelings,

which amount to endless love.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 5, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem that focuses on sound.

The Sounds of Love

                                             ...

                                            She waits in silence for her lover.

                                            The time passes on the clock upon the wall,

                                            Tick

                                           Drip

                                           As a tear rolls down her face and plummets to the floor.

                                          Then suddenly there’s a hand on the door,

                                          Click

                                          And in her ears, there’s the sound of a thousand fireworks,

                                          exuberant and joyous as she eyes her lover

                                          stepping his way across the old floor,

                                          Creak

                                          Then, as they fall into a tender embrace, she can hear his heart

                                          Beat

 

                                         And there, in that room, all that could be heard were

                                         the sounds of

                                         Love

Daily Journal Prompt: January 4, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem with a seasonal theme.

As the thick frost depletes across the water,

and the nip of the crisp air becomes less painful,

we see the buds of the once lost rose bushes peek out

from behind the safe havens of their secure rooted nests.

A bee’s buzz floats along the air

as he longs for the sweet treat he’s been waiting

long months for,

As in the woods animals of all kinds

begin to stretch their stiff limbs,

while embracing warmth.

The time has come

for Winter to drift into Spring,

as heavenly scents fill the air,

and the songs of birds are carried through the clouds.

Daily Journal Prompt: January 3, 2017

Prompt: Write a poem titled “When I Am Old”

When I Am Old

When I am old,

I will not become unable

When I am old,

I will not be changed

When I am old,

I will still do the things I used to

When I am old,

People won’t forget my name...

When I am old,

I will not be a stereotype

When I am old,

I will continue to pursue things which give my heart delight

When I am old,

I will never back down to a fight

When I am old,

I will still be bold

When I am old...

I will not be old.