The most frightening dream

I had a dream where I was coming home from the country on a large bus. After leaving a movie threater and wandering around in the snow for a bit, I finally found the bus stop just in time for he his to arrive. A thick forest lined the highway on either side and the snow fell heavily on the road. In front of the bus a car spun out of control when trying to change lanes and the bus ended up clipping the car and sending it in to the ditch. I got out of the bus and opened the passenger-side door. There was a man and woman inside the car, the man looked dead and the woman was screaming and crying. "It was supposed to be me!" She kept shouting. I tried to get her to calm down, but she kept flailing about, cutting the seatbelt strap deeper into her neck. She then reached to the side to unbuckled herself and in doing so ended up slitting her own throat. Blood gushed out on the wound and landed in my mouth, I started to vomit and the woman died, all the while shouting "you did this! You killed me!"

Swim

I'm drowning 

And I'm not sure I want to swim again. 

It isn't that hard.

It really isn't that hard to fake a smile when I need to.

You think you can tell when I'm upset, but I only let you see what I want.

When I'm really upset 

When I'm really hurt

When I get this uncontrollable urge to step off the sidewalk to become just another piece of road kill. 

You wouldn't know. 

I hide  it behind a real smile that I pull from a memory 

A memory from before I knew what it was to be sad

Before I could see through the curtained lies people told 

So don't think you know me, because I only let you see me sad to make you feel better. 

Erase my Armor

How long will the paper clips and staples last?

Will the rain wash away my armor like a child's drawing on the sidewalk? 

When the rain starts to fall...

I hope my bucket doesn't start to leak, because nothing ever good came from a flood.

And I'm not quite sure my boat will float long enough for me to not drown others along with me. 

Because my armor is nothing more than pencil on paper. 

And my boat is barely that, just nic-knacks tied together with string lost from jackets and memories forgotten under beds. 

But soon I'm going to run out of tape and  elastics and pins and twist ties. 

Then what am I going to do? 

Ask other people?

Can I borrow your stapler real quick?  

Feels Like Rain

Baby it feels like rain.
I can feel the pressure on my chest
The water's about to start pouring.

And there's nothing we can do

Baby it feels like rain
And I almost feel like drowning
As my lung begin to fill

But I can't look away from the sky

Baby it feels like rain
I can see the lightning start to flash
And the rain is set on fire

It's hard to breathe with all the heat

Because Baby it feels like rain
And there's no stopping it
And I don't want you to get sick

So take your umbrella and run.

Beat

Nonrhythmic is characteristic of my beat

So I drink one more cup to make it louder

And here comes the finishing number

One last call to knock the breath from my lips.

I'm on my way down

One trip backwards and I'm gone.

But my fingers are still shaking

And the ringing getting in my ears is getting louder

So I drink another cup to bring back the beat.

Memories

At the time I never thought much of it, I never really listened to the song but I knew it didn't sound right coming from my parents. I knew no marriage was perfect, I was old enough to understand that, but I didn't know how bad it was.

We were in the car, driving up to my uncle's house, it's one of the few memories I have left of my family together, and now that I think about it... it was the start of the end. Whenever a song came on the radio my father would sing along; poorly, and with the wrong lyrics and my mother would roll her eyes and tell him to stop. But sometimes my parents would sing a song together and I smiled because I thought it meant the fights that my parents tried to hide were resolving themselves and we were going to stay a family.

I was wrong.

Now that I look back I realize that the only song my parents sang properly together was just foreshadowing the enviable.

I really hate Paradise by the Dashboard Lights. 

Cattails

There was a time when, pulling over at the side of a country road and popping cattails with my brother was the one thing I looked forward most of all. My dad would pluck them out of the bog and me and my little brother would stand in the dirt and hit the cattails on the ground so hard they would pop in an explosion of white fluff. And as we popped more and more I remember thinking that it was like my brother and I had pulled the clouds from the sky, but then I would look up and see the clouds growing thicker and it would be time to leave. 

We piled into the car after fighting for the front seat, and I would watch the fallen clouds be swept up by the wind as we drove off. I wished that I were that light and I could fly away with one gust of wind provided by a passing car. Sometimes I felt as if I would.

Maybe then I wouldn't have felt so heavy.

But I'm  not that seeds from the cattails that my brother and I popped on the side of the road. I can't fly into the air on the tails of wind left behind by the cars. I am a broken stalk that we threw back into the bog. I am heavy and brought down by mud and garbage. 

I will never float or fly away.

I will always be stuck. 

I would be pretty...

I would be pretty if I wasn't so ugly inside.

I cover my face with paint to hide myself like Dorian Gray.

To fool myself as well as others into believing that I am attractive person,

But when the paint on my face cracks and smudges,  

And my words come out like vomit before I can stop them,

And I hurt the people I care most about...

I become painfully aware of all my flaws.

And I hate myself for not being stronger,

For not being kinder,

For not being a good person,

For these people,

Because these people I love actually think I AM a beautiful person

But I'm not.

It should hurt, but it doesn't

As I peel back the dead layers to the new underneath

Untainted

Clean

But permanently ugly and scarred.

The last cigarette

It's been almost five years and still I fine this image burned into my brain.

I remember going to my uncles after I found out he had passed away. With my mom and my aunt a head of me, we picked our way through a field of forgotten toys to a small wooded area behind the dog cages. The Alaskan Malamutes that usually greeted passers-by with wagging tails and and barks "hello" didn't stand.

They hid in their wooden dog houses and whined. Their father and pack leader had died.

Under the canopy of dying leaves we followed a dirt path carved over the years by running kids and animals to a lop-sided electric fence. The humming I usually heard when nearing the barrier was gone and replaced by an eerie silence. I glanced behind me just as my mother and my aunt hoisted themselves over the fence, the house was visible through the foliage.

I wondered for a moment if I would still be able to see the house from the spot where my uncle had died.

Beyond the fence was a farmer's field of corn, not yet harvested for the year. It's tall green and yellow stalks flanked us as we walked further along the thin crooked road. We were about halfway down the path when my mother and aunt stopped.

Our path was blocked by a lawn chair, it's blue fabric stained dark on the left side. In the dip of the seat lay a box of cigarettes, newly opened with only one missing. I couldn't take my eyes off the small box, still so white and untouched by dirt or blood.

My aunt and I waited just behind the yellow caution tape; ground into the mud by a day and a half of foot traffic. It was all that was left of any police presence.

My mother had walked a head a little and couched on the edge of the scene, her hands covering her mouth; whether it was an attempt to quiet her crying or to filter out the smell of decay I did not know.

"Oh Fred, you goof." I heard my mother mumble between her fingers.

"He shot himself in the head Cor." my aunt had said after a while.

"We don't know that Cathy!"

"Look at the corn stalks Corrine!"

Finally, I was able to tear my eyes away from the cigarette box and flick my eyes up the tops of the corn stalks. The green was cut with small splatters of red.

My aunt turned around and put her arms around me and cried into my shoulder; my mother cried into her hands, and let my eyes drop to the pile of blood at the base of the chair. I squinted at the dark pile of gore. Flies covered the dark brown mound hungrily and from under the crusting blood I could just seen the sharp outline of skull.



 

Happy

It's hard to tell what's real now.
I've been lying to myself so much.

I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
But I'm not.

I've hid my feelings-
(My true feelings)
Just to be accepted.
So I would be wanted.

I put a smile on,
Because it was easier than trying.
Because I always felt so alone.

And if I smiled to make people like me-
(Hide the real me)
Then that was okay.

It was worth it,
Because I wouldn't be alone,
And that would make me happy

I was happy right?
I was really happy...
Right?

I've been fake happy for so long.
Now that I don't need to be,
I don't know what it feels like.

What did it feel like?

I can't remember,
How long have I been pretending?

I'm tired of pretending.
I'm tired of this fake happy.
I'm tired of having to burn myself to feel warmth.

I want to try to be happy,
But I'm afraid I don't know how
And I'm afraid I won't know it,
And I'll loose it.

Fix it

Don't worry I'll fix it

I know the problem 

I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner

I'll stop it

I'll squash it

I'll rip it in two

And maybe even burn it for good measure

But don't worry I don't blame you

For not telling me sooner

It's not all about me

I know that now

I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner

Don't worry I'll fix it

I'll beat it 

I'll kill it

And maybe I'll even burn it again

I'll fix the problem 

I'll fix it soon

I'll fix it

I'll fix it 

I'll fix it

I'll fix me.

A story about a girl and her shadow

Once upon a time there was a girl and her shadow. Her shadow followed her everywhere, quietly clinging to her feet with each step as she grew. The girl was never afraid of her shadow, it was something she always had and never seemed to hurt her. But one day heard a whisper in her ear "you're going to fail". The girl stopped what she was doing at the moment and looked down at the the school project in front of her. Disgust contorted her features and she pushed the project away from her. It was awful, but it was all she had. She glared at the material for a bit and eventually gave up and pushed herself from the table and and wondered into the kitchen to grab a snack. She wasn't really hungry, she was just hoping that maybe taking a break would give her new eyes for her project.

She was halfway through her apple when her father came into the kitchen; he stood in the doorway and looked back at the table where the abandoned History project laid before returning his attention to his daughter. "Why aren't you doing your homework?"  He asked, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm just taking a break daddy." The girl said as she swallowed a piece of apple.

Her father rolled his eyes a little and shook his head, an action that would have gained her a slap across the face and a grounding. "You're just procrastinating! It doesn't even look halfway done! You're going to fail!" Her father's voice raised a little, and he shook his head again "I'm disappointed in you."

The girl shuffled in her stop in the middle of a large square of tile, she looked away from her father and let the rest of her apple drop away from her mouth to her side. The voice had been right, she was going to fail; even her father thought so. She started to walk back into the dinning room when her father stopped her with an aggravated sigh, she cautiously looked up at him to see him stalk further into the kitchen and empty his lunch box.

"You might as well finish the apple because you're going to forget it and then leave it on the counter and it's going to rot there."

She wasn't sure if it was intended by her father or not, but she felt physical pain in her chest after he finished talking. She put her hand over where she thought her heart might be and rubbed through the fabric, hoping to quell the pain. The gesture never worked, but she tried anyways.

To avoid anymore digs at herself she quickly finished her apple, packing her mouth with the tangy white flesh until her cheeks and lips hurt from trying to hold it in. She then threw out the apple core and shuffled back into the dining room to finish her homework.

"You know, she's only a little girl. She's not a machine like you."

The girl swallowed the rest of her apple and turned around in her chair to see her mother with her arm crossed over her chest. She was glaring at the girl's father who was glaring back with greater intensity. The girl had learned very early on that she was NEVER to question her father, and she got scared every time her mother did it.

"She's not going to get it done if she doesn't sit there and do it! And then she's going to start crying and you and I are going to end up finishing it for her."

She winced at her father's comment and turned back to her history homework, but she couldn't concentrate over the yelling. The girl pushed her small hands hard against her ears in an attempt to block out the yelling, but found it futile. But despite the yelling in the next room, she managed to make out the tiniest of whispers "This is all your fault." 

--

She never knew what had made the whispers when she was younger, but as she grew the whispering grew louder and more frequent. Some days were quieter than others, and those rare days she found herself not having to force her smile as much. But there were some days where the whispering started as soon as she woke up. Everything she did those days were forced; eating, walking, smiling; even her breathing was labored.

The girl became afraid of her shadow because she couldn't escape it, and she became afraid of being happy because she knew it wouldn't last, and she knew when her happiest fizzled out her shadow would become darker.

Her shadow grew louder and the girl grew sadder, but she couldn't bring herself to talk to anyone. They didn't want to hear about her sadness, people had their own problems to worry about. When people started telling her to "cheer up" that she had "nothing to be sad about" she started forcing her smiles more and more. By then the whispering was a constant in her life.

"You see, they don't really care. They don't really want you to be happy because they don't care to ask what's wrong, and even when they do, it's just because they'll look like bad people if they don't act like they care."

The girl tried to ignore the whispers and prove them wrong by opening up to a close friend... But the voice was right.

She lost that friend, that friend didn't want to be bothered by the girl's petty problems.

So the girl closed herself up and painted on a pretty smile for everyone else. Some days it faltered and cracked, so on those days she lied and said she was feeling sick. It got so bad she started believe that she was sick. She was lethargic and pale. Half the time her eyes only open half way and she couldn't see any beauty in herself. She was an outsider in her own world and she always felt alone.

"But you're not alone."

A whisper came one day.

"I will always be there with you... no matter how many people leave you, I will be there." 

At first the girl was comforted by this whisper, but then she listened more carefully.

"I will always be there to tell you how ugly you really are. I will always be there to point out your short comings. I will always be there to laugh when you fail, and I will always be there when you think you are happy so I can remind you that you will NEVER be happy."  

Despite the whispering's negative intent -with the world always changing- the girl grew comfortable with the one thing that would never change.