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A Love Letter.

This is a love letter to the abused,
For my friends who’ve dug fault lines so deep into their soul
They don’t understand when a compliment bounces off their armored skin with a hollow t h u n k
And stare blankly ahead with confusion when even the closest of people try to lift them higher
They think to themselves, ‘What’s wrong with me?’
When there’s nothing wrong at all

This is a love letter to the abused,
For the wise and the meek to realize that they can take off their armor
That they can shed their tears without hesitation or fear
Allow yourself to rise from your soot and ash,
You are worthy of more than limitations you’ve set
Unburden your soul and unclench your fists for you deserve to smile for yourself

… This is a love letter to the abused,
From one kindred spirit to you.

 

Submitted by: Faljak

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“Who Am I?”

There are a lot of people who will ask, in most any plethora of scenarios:

“Tell me a list of traits you’re proud of.”

“What are some positives?”

“Give me a reason why you’re a good person.”

We always sit there listening to nothing but that off-beat clock on the wall, avoiding awkward looks that seem to give the gist of, ‘well I tried I’ll see you next week I guess’, as we attempt rather poorly to come up with just one pitiful answer.

One.

You know how disgusting it is? To not look yourself in the mirror? To see not glass, but broken shards? The past? The scars and fears? The demons lurking over your shoulders in every corner of those four walls?

All it ever took, was that one answer to get going. To get anyone going.

So who am I? Not by definition of one fucked up stigmata so screwed into my core, blaring like a goddamn police siren every time someone asks, “What’s wrong?”

My answer? What else but, “Fine.”

It’s not fine. But I can tell you what is.

Who am I but talented. You know that one professor you have that kicks your ass with work? Makes you think outside of the realm of reason? I had one. She made me think, made me understand things… And even then I was presented with a new word to my arsenal: ‘Polymath’. In layman’s terms it means having the ability to be good a great many tasks but still being shit to yourself. I was always my worst critic, and still continue to be to this day.

Who am I but selfless. I have always emphasized that the ability to make someone smile would be greater than anything. So I cultivated that. I grew with that in my heart, and with that came another greater term: empathy. The ability to know and understand, to learn and guide… Where someone falls, you should know I will have my hand right there for you to help you back to your feet. Compassion, in its more pure form and reality, comes from the most deplorable of lifelines.

Who am I but resilient. Know where you come from, but why let it drown out who you are now? It’s useless to continue to lick those wounds, pick at scabs that continue to bleed and blind you day in and out. It took me years to realize it, yes, but once you let go and live. You’re actually alive. Abuse, night terrors, addictions, starvation tactics, self-harm and mutilation… The list worsens from there, but it takes a real strong mind, body, and soul, one that is steadfast and vigil, to overcome, oversee, and make peace with it all.

Who am I?

I am someone who deserves not the toil and tremor of depression, the affliction and pitfalls of trauma, the snares and fears of anxiety. I can learn and expand beyond even those.

I am someone who does not need this wall that blockades me from the world; sheltering me from everyone and everything, surrounding me in my fear and degradation. By one foul brick and mortar at a time, I am greater than this and the masks I’ve put up to keep everyone at bay.

I am someone who knows she is limitless with potential, yet nowhere near some gross definition of perfection.

I am worthy. I am good. I am —

Fine!

 

-Submitted by: Faljak

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Verbatim.

I – You – Me – Us.
We.
Remember what you say this day. And those therein.
Verbatim.

No one knows your strife, who you were in a redacted essence.
Your wits and good guidance be-damned and screwed to the sticking place
Lest we all fall back into a cycle,
Over and over,
Tilting back into that same phase of incriminating definition;

You know your stigmata,
Be it so bright it blinds those who look at you now?

Hear they not our cries and pleas?
Our so-called excuses for restitution of reality that we greedily seek?
Drugs and antidotes and therapies so fruitlessly plundered
From the ministry and hierarchy
Normality, we ask so wantonly;

But to be normal would be to lose who we have become or what we have aimed for,
We are as we have always been so leave us are we are

I – You – Me – Us.
We.
Remember what you say this day. And those therein.
Verbatim.

 

Submitted by: faljak

Island Boy Poetry: Poetry Heals!

Island Boy Poetry: These are some of my poems. I am finally getting back into the habit of writing but most importantly, poetry is my everything, including my motivation. While you read these poems, just imagine yourself as the writer.

Hope I could help someone get through today

Another Rave 

Vision me weeping in this world

That covets its own wealth

Where the meek reaps and sweats

And the fortunate sips and keeps.

And god is taught.

And I am torn of my dignity.

 

Here kindness witnesses a dying child

…Of hunger

…Of rejection

…Of slaughtered conscience

but refuses to acquiesce

And turn a blind eye,

But likewise almost dead.

 

Voices parade streets

With a shared language

That should champion hope.

 

Hasn’t the world had seen enough of corruption?

Hate?

Violence?

Has the world not yet come to learn history?

For some it’s a passion

For others its simply what is convenient

But to think of it…

Utter love and peace is still a vision.

 

Depression 

I’ve been thinking

And I think back to that morning I woke in tears

With feelings of gloom and despair.

And I think back to my dream

And I think back to my feeling alone

And my fears

And why every minute of every day is too much

For my pounding heart

And this miserable headache.

And my body bleeds with memories

And flashbacks

And begs to know the future

And to forget this moment

That is but a bad dream.

But everything awakens me

From memories of failure

To feelings of helplessness.

And I feel a little weak

From all the madness in the world

Judgment and hate

And there “I overthink”…

And I become lost in misery and torment

And thoughts follow thoughts

But into another deep sleep

That halts the emotional trauma

And becomes the antidote for my depression.

 

—Kevin