God, Love, Sex, Drugs, all that Jazz...

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night it may be, I constantly hear movement above me in the ceiling. As if something is living in the roof of my apartment. It makes me worry.

It isn’t just the sounds I hear that bother me, it is the feeling I continually feel. Like somebody is watching me. Watching my every move. Watching me through the walls.

My mind often wanders to imaginary places that make me very uncomfortable. I can’t help but create an image in my head of what this creature would look like. Small and ugly. Dirty and evil. Slimy fingers and hairy feet.

There are small vents that filter air in and out of my apartment that are covered with a grate that has holes on it big enough for a person to look through. I often find myself in the shower staring up at the vent, standing on an angel so whoever is up there can’t see me naked, well not completely.

I catch myself searching the backs of cupboards when I am cleaning, and under sinks for cracks in the boards, so that I can find evidence of wires leading to secret video cameras or hidden compartments. All to no avail.

This makes me feel sad.

I hear noises and those noises make me feel like I am crazy.

Going to bed with my hair wet
Pillow cold and damp
It doesn’t feel right
For me to sleep in comfort

Not tonight
Not on the day an old friend
Has fallen asleep forever
And his closet people are in agony

I need to feel something
Other than happy
I don’t deserve dry hair
Out of respect for dusty memories.

I will lay
Eyes slowly blinking tears
Adding to the puddle
On my heavy pillow

As I spin a movie reel
In my mind
Of ancient moments
He starred in

I told my eyes not to cry,
they disobeyed me.
I wonder when It was,
that I lost complete control of my own body.

It never listens to me,
anymore.

I want to feel this, it feels that.
I want to go here, it goes there.

I wish I knew how it feels,
to be in total control.
Then at least,
I would have the answers.

I told my heart to stop loving you,
it’s rebellious beat floods my body,
reminding me daily,
that it ignored me completely.

My mind is full of dark holes,

Holes that lead to nowhere,

A pitch black nothing.

Memories have been locked away,

Carefully behind concrete walls.

I do not know how to find them.

I must retrace these paths,

Though I am troubled.

I fear what this will do to me.

Pieces of my soul lay hidden,

On the other side.

I can hear my voice calling.

Will I ever know myself truly,

Will I ever find the child,

That was left behind many years ago.

It is hard for you to love me,

Even I know this.

I drive myself crazy most days,

Only God knows the ways I affect you.

I am sorry for this,

You know I try my hardest.

I wish I knew how to fix me,

So that you don’t have to.

When I am out of control,

You reach into the sky,

Pulling me back to the ground

Where I am safe.

I am thankful for this.

Nobody can see into my soul,

Or read the pages of my heart,

Like you do.

All the sides of me,

Are centered around you.

I know my secrets are safe,

Please never leave.

“Do you love me?”

She has asked him this question every day for the past 4 years, as if one day could change his mind.

“Yes” he replies in the same bored monotone.

With great anticipation she is reassured, but she continues to ask one last question.

“How much?”

He knew it was coming, and looks at her with impatient but smiling eyes and answers in exactly the same way he did the day before, and the day before that.

“To the moon and back again.”

This is all she needs to hear.

For today anyway.

Dear Sir,

I never thought the day would come, the moment where I would realize that I don’t miss you every single second of everyday.

I guess time really does have a way of numbing these feelings. I no longer live in the past, in the memories that infiltrated my mind and my body. You are no longer my oxygen, I can breathe without you.

I thought the falling feeling in my chest would never cease, and the pain that covered my body would never heal. I still love you and always will, but dealing with the fact I lost you, is becoming somewhat easier.

I will always hold you close to my heart, just not inside of it.

I will always think of you and smile, and let the breath slowly release from my lungs as I let you go with it, fading into my history, where you belong.

You will never find me, you never found me to begin with.

Love Always,

Me.

I dreamed of you last night

your little body next to mine

eyes wide, arms stretching

you needed me.

In that moment I was complete

my heart grew full

and I feared waking up.

I touched your face

and kissed your hands

only to open my eyes

to the weight of my sad realization.

I’ve never met you

but I love you,

You do not live

but I miss you.

When I was young, I would sometimes write letters to God. I would address it to heaven, and secretly place it in the postbox.

Letters containing the words of a child who wanted answers. Words of hurt, words of pain, all the secrets you can never speak out loud.

I would write these letters when I couldn’t sleep,  when the house smelt like stale wine and cigarettes. Where music was blaring on a school night, and my parents would yell over the top over each other through slurred speech and spiteful words.

Sometimes I would cry, other times I was so angry I would write to God in big bold letters, screaming at him to save me and my siblings. Sometimes I was feeling nothing and was writing just to make feelings come alive within me.

When you are a child growing up in a house of hell, sent to a school of God, you have no one to talk to about these things. It is shameful to explain to your devout christian teacher why your uniform and hair smells like smoke. Why your skin is pale and eyes are puffy from sleepless nights. It’s embarrassing having to explain to your rich christian friends where your T.V has gone when your mother has pawned it, or why you never want them to come over to your house to begin with. You fear the things they might see.

Two drunk silhouettes falling around the house, talking trash, slamming doors, screaming of hate and tearing the house apart. These are things you keep to yourself, these are things you never speak of.

So I wrote little letters, knowing that they would never reach heaven, I posted them because letters like these could not be kept in the house.

I never checked the mailbox for a reply and I never expected one.

But now as an adult I wonder if some postal worker ever laid eyes on them, ever read them and gasped. If they did, I feel a little better knowing someone somewhere in the world knew the things I could never say out loud.

Sometimes you do things

that make my mind go to a dark twisted place.

Your fingers burn my skin

as they trace old scars that cover me.

I pretend it doesn’t hurt

so you don’t’ feel like a monster.

You will never know the places I go

when I close my eyes.

This inner battle is a losing game

between my heart and mind.

If only I could cut the difference

between then and now.