I found this one written in my one journal from when I was fifteen. Most likely brought on by puberty-induced chemical changes. Whoo hoo.
Shades of Grey
The world of black and white I had always seen
Shows shades of grey hidden in between.
The lines were drawn clearly, all boundaries were marked.
The light was the light. The dark was the dark.
Now lines are fading, more everyday
And my world is turning to shades of grey.
I tried to discern the right from the wrong,
But couldn't understand what was taking so long.
every shade I try to translate
I don't figure out, until it's too late.
Basking in the light that I finally see,
And run from the darkness that's following me.
I see the white and walk straight ahead,
Only to end up on grey instead.
Should I go or should I stay?
To live out my life in these shades of grey.
Written, again, when I was sixteen. The topic of depression, despair, and self-injury seemed to be rampant in that journal volume.
Giving Up
Terribly confused by all that she hears
Suddenly confronted by all of her fears
Then she saw
Her every flaw
Threw herself to the bed and shed tears.
She cried over the person she could have been
The girl who existed before she met him,
Before she was rejected
Misused, disrespected
Before she went wayward and fell into sin.
The world to her was so misleading
Desperate, confused, she scrapes her arm bleeding
All she aspires to
Is to fill her desires to
Cease her small, jealous heart's beating.
So tired and lonely, joked at and jaded,
She picked up the blade and destroyed who she hated
But aside from the pain
Inside she's the same
Her masochism fell flat and deflated.
"My arms and my heart. My God, I am aching!
I want to real this life I've been faking
This twisted mentality
Doesn't work out for me
Please help me to clean up this mess I've been making!
Please help this self-hatred to loose its appeal
And take away all this depression I feel
I give my life, my all to You
Knowing that You'll make me new
Brush me under Your wing and help me to heal."
Also written when I was sixteen. Right after my older brother left for boot camp, in the middle of the despairing winter months, and before a dance performance.
Easy Days With You
It's the days you wake up sleeping,
Every scream becomes a yawn,
You run from fear of fear itself,
Every minute seems so long.
You try to hold on by letting go
Of the things that held you tight,
You spend the whole day thinking
And stay up half the night.
It's the days that just keep going,
And never seem to end,
You always seem to backtrack,
Waste every moment that you spend.
It's those days that break me down,
When True Love isn't true,
It's days like this that I am glad
I have my trust in You.
I wrote this sonnet when I was sixteen after coming home from my AP Spanish 3 class and deciding to drop out of it after mid-term. During the entire semester, none of my classmates made the move to include me. It inspired me to write.
Dream Girl
At the moment you see me, I'm vivid and clear
I only exist when I'm all that you see
But I fade from your memory when I am not near
O Dream girl, Dream girl. Dream girl: that's me.
Like a wraith in this world I'm around but not seen
Yet you know my name, my face, and my voice
Not famous or nameless, but somewhere between
Remember by chance but ignore me by choice.
Living as a dream is a nightmare. I want to be real.
So just like my namesake I'll fade entirely
Now I'm taking this chance to tell you how I feel
leaving you wishing you'd remembered me.
So bring me up, something to show me you care,
Show me I'm real to you, and I'll always be there.
Two words.
How was I to dilute the entirety of my pain into two words? Two words. Was it even possible? How are you feeling? Not good. Simple, to the point, but showed no imagination. That in itself was not good. Throwing your emotions out into the open so blatantly obvious, never giving one the chance to prepare themselves. Not only was it unthoughtful, it was uncreative. Appallingly ignorant. True, to an extent. If I knew what was going on, I wouldn’t be here, would I? Ignorance is not, as they say, bliss. It is torture. Ignorance is torture. Which makes me feel horrible for not having noticed that before. I think of all the pain and suffering I have put myself through that could have very well been avoided.
It made me feel exceptionally unobservant.
Or, perhaps, I was simply dangerously unbalanced. Extraordinarily weak. Outrageously miserable. Fragilely human.
But I knew I could rise above this. Somehow, somewhere in my mind, I knew I could. I was not personally deprecated. I may not have brought this upon myself, but I could get myself out of it. Nothing could stop me.
I was getting up. Goodbye, Doctor. I’m leaving. I’m indestructible. I’m back. Starting now.
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