La Domina

Wondering why my old poem is true...only good for one thing...every night of her life.

The dots.
They circle my body.
Blue.
Green.
Purple.
They float above my head. Protecting me?
Killing me?
I wake up and my whole room in yellow.
The walls around me are bright green.
Is this what eternity feels like?
Is this depression?
The thing...chemical imbalance...
The thing that is wrong with me.
Destroying my soul?
Controlling my brain?
What is making me see the world like this?
Pills?
What made me like this?
What is the force that makes me hurt myself?
Why do I get such pleasure from it?
I listen to the music...
Pink Floyd of my stereo.
Sending me away.
I feel my body lifting from the floor.
I am floating.
The blood drips from the cuts on my wrists.
Now dripping onto the floor from the air above.
I am flying.
They tell you it is all in your head.
NO!
It is real.
They tell me the things I hear and see is my mind playing tricks on me.
They engulf my body and make me say things...
Do things...
The demons inside me.
As you read this, you are probably thinking I am crazy...
Or on drugs...maybe both...
No!
These are my notions of the world around me as I see it.
As I lie here dying...
I write these words so someone would possibly understand.
I am like a broken toy...
When you wind me up I go in circles...
Instead of forward.
Understand that we are all children.
Even as we grow old...
We are all children!
Someone always has control over us.
When we are young...
Our parents.
Then as we grow into adults...
The government.
Then as we start to die...
We turn into babies again...
Not being able to do anything for ourselves.
It is one vicious cycle.
My head is a white room.
No doors.
No windows.
No exit.
That is why I'm here...
Floating in my room...
Pink Floyd on my stereo...
Blood dripping from my wrists...
These are my last words.
This is what I see through my eyes everyday.
The endless psychotic episodes.
Read this and understand.
See through my eyes!

Don ran away.
I don't know why. I keep trying not to think about how he may be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Arms slashed open...head full of chemicals. You fell so lonely when the only thing keeping you company are the thoughts bouncing off the back of your skull. No communication ties. No where to empty my sick thoughts but the desolate wasteland of the computer screen. I am killing myself. Slowly but surely. Having random sex, denying my body of the vitamins it needs, Wasting away. Crazy Alex has taken over...Alex is never coming back. You lost her. I am a sick freak. I drive people away with my sick thoughts. People think blood and mutilation are works of the devil. They are works that give me pleasure. Pain=Pleasure. "Take your pills and go to sleep" a phrase I will steal from Justin. I take 9 pills, soon to be 10 pills a day. Help me. Save me from myself. I just want to sleep forever...stay in a dream where no one can hurt me. You can't die in your dreams. No one can touch you unless you want them to. "She breaks just like a little girl" -Bob Dylan. I curl up in a little ball protecting myself from the things that want to get me. How can I protect myself from something that inside me head? I listen to music to reflect what I feel. Lately I haven't been able to find music angry enough for my needs. I am listening yo Pink Floyd right now. They are my crazy outlet. They put my feelings into words that I cannot speak. Mental Illness is like when you are wearing a blindfold and then someone takes it off and you see all the ugly things in the world for what they really are. That is what drives people mad. I hate thinking I am the one with the problem. Why can't it be everyone else's problem and not just me alone...by myself? I can't speak. It feels wrong for me to utter a word. I shouldn't be saying such things about myself. Too personal. Can't let anyone get too close. I just end up breaking them.

This was a journal entry, but it was just written so well. If you really read it, You can see how my mind switched from topic to topic. Truly scatter-brained.

I am myself.
Miller medications out of my brain.
My mind is my own.
Twilight.
In the car.
The clouds are so far away.
I realize how big the world really is.
1 in 10 people have major depressive disorder.
10% of the population had Borderline Personality Disorder.
My problems don't matter.
Prozac.
Lithium.
Enderal.
Valium.
Bull-shit.
Pump my brain with chemicals.
Telling me no to read the books I do.
Don't hurt yourself.
SAFETY PLAN.
I can't remember feeling true happiness.
I have been paranoid since I was six.
A child fearing for her life,
Against an imaginary enemy.
My mind makes everything seem so frightening.
I'd rather die than be afraid.
But I know through all this pain,
I am myself.

There is poison inside me.
Something eating me...
Is it god?
Are you there?
The poison in my mind
Serotonin, norepinephrine.
Paxil, Effexor, Zyprexa, Ritalin, Lithium, Topamax.
Aren't you supposed to help?
"NO!" they say,
"We are here too brainwash you, make you like the rest of them."
You become like them, you give up.
Or if your will is strong you give them complications.
You see the knife,
Watch the blood.
Wait!
Self destructive behavior.
You have to be sent to the hospital
You're going to kill yourself.
So now you are surrounded by dug addicts and vegetables.
Why are you here?
You're not crazy.
You work your way out.
Now no one will listen to you because you had a stay in the loony bin.
TOO MANY COMPLICATIONS!
You start cutting again,
Hiding it.
Big secret.
So the cycle continues,
I hope God eat your soul and help you.
Amen.

Eek, I was going through some strange times...

I am a piece of trash.
People toss me around,
The throw me away.
WHY ARE PEOPLE MEAN TO ME?
Not include me in things?
I am stupid,
Innocent,
Too young.
NO!
I understand better than most people,
How the world works.
I HATE YOU!
How can I make people think I am smart?
I'm not.
That's why they treat me the way they do.
This is the only back-fire from not letting people see who I really am.
Not letting people get too close.
I don't want to let people know me.
They always hurt me.
Everyone likes to hurt me.
They get sick, twisted pleasure out of it.
I am your toy...

Apparently I was really angry at the world when I wrote this, I don't remember what happened to provoke this. Although I don't remember a lot of what happened in that period of my life.

My skin is like tissue paper.
Cut thin by the razors edge.
Scars all over my body.
Because it takes the pain away.
Beautiful and hidieous at the same time.
I am an addict in my own sense,
Pain is my drug, my fix, my ecstacy.
This is the most dangerous of all drugs.
With one slip of the wrist, I severe a vein
And bleed to death in a pile on the floor.
I am left with what would be a track marks to a heroin addict.
Little scars reminding me of the time and place.
The pain calms me down,
Makes the bad go away,
Makes me feel again.
THE FALL FROM GRACE.
No one can hurt me as much as I hurt myself.
I am in an abusive relationship with myself.
I have a problem.

A quiet one you are,
Never speaking unless necessary.
Is it hard?
Or have you done it you whole life?
Are you happy or sad?
Bored?
Too smart to deal with this stupid world?
Are you hiding behind that Abercrombie?
Or are you just another one of them?
Are you in love with someone?
Heartbroken?
What are you thinking?
What's inside your head?
Speak.

Written about this really interesting guy in my Biology class who would never speak. I always just wanted to know what he was thinking about.

She puts on her liquid make-up
Smoothing it over her skin.
Patting on light powder.
Kissing her cheeks with pink blush.
Softly spreading the eye-shadow.
Outlining her eyes.
Coloring her lips with soft paint.
Slipping into her youthful dress.
Finally spritzing herself with strawberry scent.
Anxious about the night to come.
Nervous with herself.
She walks onto the streets
Engulfed by the night
She offers herself to it.
She walks to lonely, cold streets,
Searching for someone to offer herself to.
She is a lady of the night.
Parading herself like a prize to be won.
Depending on how much money they have
She gives herself to the highest bidder.
Like a piece of meat.
Raw and bloody.
Diseased.
She makes herself up like a prom queen,
Only to have the dress ripped from her body.
The crown torn from her hair.
Only good for one thing.
Every night of her life.

My feelings about myself at a certain point in my life.

Observe,
The stupidity around us.
So much wasted potential.
Burning brain cells
Substances flowing in our veins.
Corrupt us with trends.
Mainstream
Mental Illness
Drug addiction.
Slavery disguised as freedom
Invisible chains
keeping us in our place.
Young Love?
Sweaty bodies in a damp basement.
Whispers in the hallways.
Clouded eyes.
Vaseline smiles.
Tracked up veins.
Scarred wrists.
School is a sandstorm
Greatness seems so close,
Yet unreachable every time you try.
Inner monologues
Thinking un-trusting thoughts every minute
Never trust.
Observe.

Probably my favorite poem that I have ever written.

Once upon a time I dated a boy and I said I loved him.
He said he loved me too.
I believed him.
Stupid Naive girl.
Put on the leash he made for you, and the collar he puts around your neck,
and follow him at his knees.
He was my whole world.
No one else mattered.
"You are not the same," people would tell me.
"Bring back the old Alex," they pleaded.
Nothing has changed!

Now this boy had a side love affair.
He loved her more than he ever loved me. Her name was Mary,
MaryJane.
His love for MaryJane consumed him and took away all his time and energy from me.
She made him jelaous and full of rage for me.
One night it reached the worst and he raped me.
After that I realized he never loved me,
unless there was a cloud of smoke around my face.
He now lives alone,
with MaryJane as his only companion.
Flooding his lungs with lies and false promises.
May they be together forever and die in each others arms.

The End

Naive girl.
Foolish prisoner.
Dance your slave dance for your master.
He sings you a lullaby full of lies.
Dance in the flames and burn away your freedom.
He kept you to himself.
For his own dirty pleasures.
Cover your face with the mask of smoke.

Experience your surroundings
Eat life, drink reality.
Abercrombie won't be there to save you.
What we HAVE doesn't matter.
Why waste money on clothes?
Won't they be out of style in 6 months?
Cars...rims...penis size...
all in relation.
Bling Bling, Ice, Cheese.
Why doesn't personality matter?
We are sold off to the highest bidder.
Breathtaking eyes,
Kind heart,
Wonderful original personality,
A look, A touch, A sound, A feeling
Look into someone's soul,
Not their wallet.

No longer 1968, you are afraid to stand up for what you believe in.
Society has made death something that we are afraid of.
I'm not saying we should celebrate it,
But do not fear it.
If we cannot stand up and fight for what we think is right...
Then who will?
Our enemies.
Getting done what we wish to fight against.
Make me believe you,
Make me follow you.
Lead me not into temptation,
but deliver me from my owns evils.
And if I die in pursuit of happiness,
so be it,
For it was not in vain.

My ode to insomnia...

Sit.
Stare.
Play in your make-believe world.
Drawing circles on the walls.
Remembering dead ex-boyfriends.
1:00 in the morning
Looking for a radio station.
Silence,
all the time in the world to...
Think.
God forbid a teenager turns the gears
That's dangerous, too much raw energy.
Deciding whether or not to pass out...
from MEDS
or stay awake and see what demons I can conjure from my cortex.
Night is a God-like time,
anything is possible as long as you can do it without making a sound.
Silent armies, Battlegrounds.
BOOM!! Shhhh! Can't wake Mom.
Ponder; ponder; tick; tick,
Heaven, Hell, Good, Evil, Men, Women
Endless parades of thoughts and about 8 hours alone for you to think all about them.
Goodnight.
Sleep tight.

Free your soul and free your mind.
Speak what you think
Who cares about who gets offended.
They will have to learn in the "real" world anyway.
Fuck high school society.
Invisible gates in our minds
Telling you to bite your tongue
So you don't hurt anyone's feelings.
All warm fuzzies, no cold pricklies.
Let's get along children; Play fair
There is an unwritten code we all must obey.
Constantly scanning sentences, phrases, and sayings.
Beep. Beep. Filter. Cut. Paste. Speak.

Draw.
Write.
Laugh.
Free your mind.
Express yourself.
Blink and see beautiful things.
Colors, shaped, people.
See and take it in.
Devour the world for all its beauty.
Take in the ugly with the beautiful.
Ugliness can be beautiful.
Beauty is often ugly.

This is one of my favorite poems that I have ever written. Inspired by Katie Elliott, one of the dumbest people I have ever met in my life. That you Katie for inspiring me to write such a great poem.

Look at the girl in the bubble.
No cares,
For she doesn't know real thought.
She sits and stares; empty head.
Free from all distraction and reality.
Blink, Chew, Blink, Chew, Blink, Chew.
"Chalk scares me," she screams.
What? Chalk?!
What goes through your head?
"WHA?" with a turn of the head.
She is a doll with set emotions, incapable to feel...enough
Her world is one of Aberzombie, Cover Girl, technicolor world,
Alternate realities, sex, and her Malibu Beach House.
Pink, neon and flesh.
Physically she is "perfect," 38", 19", 34"
Her body may be made of heard plastic, but her head is but hollow rubber.
No one is home.
You speak of things that don't matter to a "real" person.
Endless parties, drug binges, and basement rendezvous.
Convertibles, bikinis, silicone, and hair dye.
Painted faces, painted nails, and painted thoughts.
Emptiness.
Cut her flesh and she bleeds pools of melted plastic.
Ooze, pour, wrinkle her skin tight perfection,
You will end up with an old maid who cannot think for herself.
No longer does her beauty think for her.
She cannot cry her way out of bad situations.
Promise you sexual favors or promises of teenage power.
Popularity is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
She whispers in your ears words of promise.
Once you wake up, all you hear is,
"blahblahblahblahblah"
She handles her body like a four year old handles a Barbie.
Clothes on; Clothes off
Legs spread; Legs closed.
Chew your gum and forget about life,
You will forget about it by tomorrow anyway.
Like the dog bitch you are, you only have a 10 minute attention span.
"What were we talking about again?"

How can you miss someone so much it hurts your soul?
Pulling on my strings like a puppet.
Shape me, move me, pull me away.
My heart is a mirage,
Stuck somewhere else while I believe it's here with me.
My heart is wherever he is.
I love you.
Why did you have to leave me.

This poem is about Donnie, after he died I went through a really hard time and wrote a lot about him and how I wanted to be with him. I used to talk to him in my dreams.

Haven't written in quite a while, everything has been going very well with life thus far. I have lost 70 pounds since May and am feeling much better about my overall appearance. I almost think sometimes I am developing an eating disorder. I get really nervous when I have to eat in front of certain people, and I am just never hungry. I have resting tremors which Dr. Beech thinks is related to the medicine but I believe it is because I am only eating about 500-750 calories a day. I have cut myself twice within the last month. I just feel like I an not going anywhere with my life, I have been in college for 3 years now and have nothing to show for it. I am not even close to being done with school. Every now and then I want to start singing again, but I just don't know how to start it again. If I go back to Mrs. Sweeney I will feel like I failed her by not going on and doing something within the music world. The only things that have been really constant in my life have been Adam and work. Work is a constant that I have been more and more sick of eveytime I go. It is the same thing over and over again, day in and day out. The same bitchiness and mean comments from Dr. Chanan and the same on edge feeling that if you happen to do something wrong you WILL be getting fired. Adam has been the only good thing in my life for that past year. I miss him so much when he is away from Columbus, I have gone to see him 2 times this year and I love going to visit him. When I am up at Kenyon I fell as though I am actually a college student. I envy the actual college experience. I work, which not any of my friends do, it is different but I want my youth, I want my time to be on my own. I don;t know whether or not I want to move out or not. For one thing, there is no way I would be able to afford it. I did just find out that my grandmother has left me a lot of money to start out on my own. I know that if I move out, I wouldn't talk all day, because everyone I talk to is gone. My life has changed so much but yet I am still alone. I need to find someone to love me. Maybe it is just my Borderline talking, me needing the constant attention and my massive crave for love and affection. But I want someone to love me for me. I want someone to spend time with me, to sit in my basement with me and watch movies and the Discovery channel. It is sad that after all these years I am still in love with Grant, why did he have to change me the way he did. Why the fuck did he end it like that? I wonder sometimes that had it have ended differently, would I still be in love with him. Then there was Mike who is now married to a fat woman who is 8 years older than him. I don't ever really think about him as much as I do Grant. Fuck this, I am going to stop writing now...