The little girl

I've found the missing piece at last. And brought myself to finally let the mask go. After taping back together my heart,any hope at cover-up now is useless. You’ve seen the true me anyway.

I know its not always pretty. A soul covered in scars. Maybe the facade served a reason. Protecting the little girl that survives, hidden behind the cynic. Behind the bitter twisted views on life, that for me is the norm, is the one that dares to hope. Maybe if i just stay strong, i can keep her alive for you and me to share.

So I’ll make a wish on a shooting star, I'll dare to dream and start all over. Try again,and this time i know you'll be, patiently waiting, always by my side. To catch me when i trip and fall. You wont let me self destruct and you help me heal a little, when i want to.

So now I’ll thank you for when you took apart my disguise. Piece by piece, till you uncovered what i had forgotten:
that little girl inside...
Me.

Ghosts

A shattered heart and broken smile I own, worlds of confusion and haunted eyes. Empty words with hollow meaning and floods of regret drowning everything.

While your hate cuts deeper than knife and regret twists the blade, I don't know how this got so hopeless. Or why I continually try to live a lie. Through trying to keep above the tides of sorrow, I am putting myself through hell.  

My struggle to sleep proves this no nightmare, while I fight to remain alive. Knowing it won’t be easy to put back all these pieces. And so I sit alone and wonder awhile. Questioning how long will I remain, still waiting for you to stop hating me

Broken hearted from my collapsed dreams as I realise how useless it all is. You’ve given me an introduction to pain. A lesson in hatred and all I have to show is scars.

I don't know where to go from here, or where to turn to now. But I'll send you this message if you’re not deafened by your scorn:

“Although leaving this is painful I'll learn to survive alone”

These ghosts, though, shall remain with me, showing in my eyes and always will there be a sadness weighing down my heart.
The four loneliest words..... ‘It might have been’

Suicide Note

Bent me to your will til I was crying tears of blood, made me out of scars and force me to my place until you'll see nothing in my eyes. Blank, cold and dead inside, I’ll bring you down with me. Until you fight to know you’re alive.

There’s crazed fire in my eyes and ice in my heart. The heat of passion shall be my shield. Hiding the hole inside.

Finding myself alone, becoming more desolate. To the transparent crowds; do I cry out in vain? Now I know I can never be the same and so, losing my mind I take a leap from the edge. Holding tight to the empty hope that you'll be there to break my fall

Grounded in an instant, it’s over as no longer I hope to find you here. I gave my all but t’was not enough, when all I wanted was a chance to melt the ice inside. So now the fire fades, drowned by the blood on the pavement.

Burnt out, is the fire in my eyes, still with ice in my heart. My skin is cold to any touch, no longer heated by passion; to hide the hole inside.

I leave a part of me with you, on the day I die.

A tangled web

Now I have given away my innocence, to become bitter and twisted; not even you see through this facade. These false smiles, this amused laughter. If only they knew what I really laugh at.

If even you could see this would you want to know me? Still ask of me that which you know I cannot give. Do you really even know me? You thought you did, and I let you believe falsity. 'cause I was done with your promises. Lying had come back in style and I'd decided for once to be fashionable - figured I wouldn't lose to you this time. And now I'm never letting you see the truth.

Can you deal with that fact that, this time darling it’s you. Losing because of your ignorance. An ignorance you share with most. You’ll accept me as you think I am, but would you if you really knew?

Is it worth it at all?

What is actually out there?

Anything worth having or seeking?

Or after that now I've discovered there is nothing left for me to give. Is there anything left for me to be given?

You say you love me. And believe it too, but answer me this: does this love of which you speak exist or are we all duped into believing in something that is lust skilfully disguised? To this we've both become victim, losing to this fiction we call love and kindness, tangled and crossed with the facts of lust, broken promises and falsity. A tangled web we all weave.

My Ocean

The ocean. My ocean. Some days calm, others tempestuous, it contains a hidden piece, a strength and power, invisible. Those qualities must be felt. Absorbed through the very pores of ones skin. It’s song heard in the very crash of the waves. It’s very essence tasted in the salty air.
This is my peace, my passion, my power. It is the very waves that crash against the rocks only metres from my feet. It is the wind that ruffles my hair and caresses my body. The rain that licks my skin and mingles with my tears. I am part of this. I am the very rock on which i sit. The air that i breathe. I am not complete or incomplete. Neither piece nor whole. Like the ocean, I simply am.

Old Bones.

The waves crash loudly as they hit the rocks. The night air is cool, refreshing with a slight taste of salt. Above the beach a young woman stands, almost perfectly still, gazing down at the constantly moving water. Every now and then a mist of salt water caresses her skin delicately, tiny droplets catching in her hair and eyelashes.

That woman is me.

The sound of the ocean is soothing, leaving me feeling almost at peace. Whole, something I have not been for quite some time. While I remain here I can forget, allow myself to imagine. Escape to a place where my bones no longer ache like that of an old woman. My face remembers how to smile and my heart sings for no reason. I am complete, perfect in my imperfections.

Alas this place is temporary as I trudge back to the car. The peace, quickly fading, flees at the close of the car door and all that is left is emptiness. An ache that begins nowhere in particular and quickly spreads. Once again I become an old woman. My bones ache, my smile fades and my soul weeps. Emptiness permeates my entire being and once again I am in pieces, disjointed. Together, but falling apart.

Reminiscing

Of late I have been quite absent from here and have let my posting become kind of nonexistent. I was prompted to return here by a conversation I had with my cousin about passions.

Hers is art. I wish I had some photos of some of her paintings, they are just luscious. For something as simple as paint on canvas, it has a profound effect on her life. Keeping her sane.

Mine is the written word. For as long as I can remember I have had a passion for reading. It allowed me to disconnect from the world and escape into the reality of that particular author. Perhaps for that reason I have always been a bit of a loner. To be perfectly honest, that’s how I like it.

More recently however I have discovered that my passion for the written word extends itself to writing as well. While perhaps my talent is not that of My Soul is a Butterfly, it is something I do to keep me sane.

To me there is something refreshing about words spilling out onto paper (or a screen). A soul being poured into creating an image. Words flowing like liquid. Another reality to escape to, creating one of my own.