Sight and Scar

Alarm rings. Eyes crack open to the sight of the sun coming up on a new day.
Covers roll off as i emerge from the ruin that was my bed, now a crumpled mass of indistinguishable articles.

A skinny fit tall man stares at me from across the room, His head moves down and i see the dull red lines running across the chest like runners across a field. The and like roadways, beaten and broken from abuse.

His hand reaches up and the feeling of scar against scar gates like nails on a chalkboard.

A step back, a shattered mirror, blooded hands and feet are all that remain.

A shroud covers the room, blanketing everything in black. The wooden floor covered I'm blood and powdered glass, the aluminum wall showing with glass holding on for dear life by shall stands of paste.

Feet cut and bleeding freely with a blood pool surrounding. And hands, the beaten hands broken one again, another scar another story for the collection.

Darkness flows in filling in the missing flesh, healing my wounds, making me ever less visible as skin knits together in crude fashion.

A crumpled bed, sat on again, faded and worn by the years crawling by.

My hands are disappearing from sight. skin translucent, clothes beds walls, seen through me while while the shroud remains. The black so comforting, so safe.

Outside eyes see through me, my body leaves no shadow, never noticed ai go through the door.

6'2" talk strong lean
Yet I'm invisible, people walk through me as though I'm not there.

Parents

Why are we tormented?
Of every pain we face
There is nothing so terrifying
As that of you parents.

We go through our lives wishing to please them,
Hoping against everything that our actions are perfect for them.
My entire life was solely focused on my parents,
Trying to be the best child, one who they would be proud of.

But now, a midst all this torture,
My greatest enemy are not my teachers,
It is my parents.

Every day I am hounded for answers, I am yelled at for messing up and screamed at for not knowing.
When I stand up for myself I am told to sit back down;
Yet when I stay in my seat I am told to get my ass in gear.

These people are our parents!
Raised us since birth
As their own flesh and blood.

Telling us, since we were children,
To live our lives and be whoever we want to be.

Yet when push comes to shove,
They stop our independence cold,
Shove expectations down our throats
And tell us how to live our lives!

When all we ask for is to be our own person, Our own damn person.
Our own person with unshattered dreams,
unbroken hopes, found loves and
Everything that makes life worth living.

Why is this so much to ask?
Why must I conform to their standards?
Why can't I be me?
Why won't you let me be me?

A Note on the Curb

I am a fool, i am an idiot,
For thinking about you,
When i should be thinking about my future.
Yet, i cannot think of my future without you.
In my deep pit of darkness,
You were the only light to bring me up. You are the little thread at the bottom of Pandora's box,
That will see me through every evil i may come across.
And now, as our paths diverge
I wish you the best.
Where I do not see the future, the past appears,
And it is a long slippery slope
Of pain and torture.
Until you hop across my path again.

Wishing

I am a fool.

I am always second.

My life fails me.

My morals fail me.

I wish for more.

 People have told me,
"Some day,
A girl is going to be
Extremely happy,
Because of you."

Why must it be someday?
Why can't it be now?
Why do I still hurt?
What goes around comes around,
Why do I still hurt?

I wish for stability.
My life is stuck on repeat.
I find someone special,
I care for them.
My heart is torn.

I wish for love.

Darkness

My entire life, 
Has been balanced by a set of scales. 
On one end sits all the good in life, 
The other has all that makes us sad. 

During my childhood,
All the bad were 10 oz weights, 
And all the good were 10 pounds.
Every joyful thing that ever slapped a smile on this thing, added another.
Looking at the balance now, 
Its all off. 

Despite the mass amounts on either side,
Sorrow is so much lower. 

Then I realized it,
For every bad thing that has ever happened, 
It added 10 pounds over there. 
Grabbing my ankle and never letting go as it brought me lower, and lower. 
Lower into the bleak dark and desolate void.

Darker than the deepest reaches of space, 
Even then there are little limericks of light,
Tiny little stars still watching over you.

Five miles under the sea level, 
The only light comes from things only wanting to drag you deeper.
This far down, you lose all hope of rescue and just let yourself drift.
All light is false and only leads you deeper. 

Even then, you still hope that that light, is in fact here for you.
I want that light to be there for me so dearly,

Yet I still sit back and watch
As others are drawn towards these lights and are drawn up or sink ever lower.