Open Letter to My Bullies

Life, Personal, Postcard From The Edge, Uncategorized

You know who you are.
You know what you’ve done and you continue it. A huge part of me has billions of questions,”Why me?”, “What did I do to you to get you to be so hateful?”. But I know if I were to ask you these questions or any for that matter, your response would not be what I want to hear, or be the right answer. I have so much to say, yet this is probably all I can come with at the moment… Which is frustrating.
It’s taken me a while now to figure out who I am again. To pick up the pieces you shattered with each rumor, with each insult, and ounce of hate you created.
As I am still figuring out all these things about myself again, I want to thank you. Thank you for picking me instead of someone weaker. Thank you for showing me that I can overcome the things you say and the things you’ve done. Thank you for giving me an army of people I can fall back on that will have my back when I need them. You’ve given me friends that I never thought I’d have. In that, I’ve become stronger.
However, I am not going to lie. You’ve cracked me. Not necessarily break, but you got a few cracks in.
Here’s the sad truth of what you’ve done: I can’t sleep anymore. I have nightmares about the things you’ve said. I no longer fully attend school because I’m scared to walk the halls in fear that you’re going to do something again. Your intimidation is a monster as it is. Trying to slay it and pretend it doesn’t bother me brings me down right next to hell. I’ve been depressed, but I never thought someone could be so sad or feel like they aren’t good enough just from a small amount of people. You’ve created monsters in me that I’m scared of.
For nearly 4 months, I wake up in fear and hurt. And everyday I wake up or go to sleep asking the same question: What did I do wrong to you?
I’m tired of fighting back tears, lying to my peers/teachers that I’m okay, fighting back the urge to run away from the pain, and tired of pretending that what you do doesn’t bother me. (Spoil alert if you haven’t gotten it yet: It does.)
At first I had so much hate for you. I’m not going to lie. Every time I saw one of you, I just wanted to scream and punch. But now, I feel sorry. I feel sorry that you don’t have anything better to do. I feel sorry, because I know something must’ve happened to you in order for this to happen. In result, I pray for you.
As for those who see the things that happen and do nothing about it. How can you let it get to this and continue? How can you see the hurt, the need for help and just laugh and ignore it? For all the trust I’m suppose to have, I just blame you for the creation of this. If you just protected me the way you claim(ed), I wouldn’t feel less than I am worth. I wouldn’t be scared to do things I love or be scared to show up to school. By you, I’m so incredibly disappointed and hurt. There’s not enough words to truly express the actual feelings I have. I honestly hope, that if this were to happen again, you’d be more attentive to what was going on.

There’s about a million other things I can say. But like one of the people I trust, I need to stop beating myself up over this. For me, this is my first step. This might be stupid, but I’m finally getting to say some things that I didn’t really have the time or strength to. It’s going to take time to get past this. Considering it’s still going on, but it’s going to take time piecing myself together again.

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It Won’t Stop

Life, Old but New, Poem, Uncategorized

You know who it’s coming for.
You might as well just let it in, before it comes back again.
Hold your tongue, you’ll never win. Take it for what it is.
You know turning back would be a sin. So come on, just let it in.
I know it hurts. But it won’t stop till you get there, won’t stop until the end dear.
Now you’re down. Get up again. You’ll get use to the pain.
Don’t you know? Words will fade.
If only you stop letting them stay.
Now’s your chance to hit the brakes and stand up and walk away.
But now its getting late for the break of day
Now’s your turn. It wont stop til you get there.
Won’t stop til the end.
It won’t stop.

The Guilt

Poem, Postcard From The Edge, Uncategorized

How do you look guilt in the face?
Do you look it in the eyes?
Do you swallow that lump in your throat?
Or do you hide from it, like a child taking shelter under a blanket from the closeted monster?
How do you look guilt in the face?
Do you even look?
Or do you walk away from it?
What do you do when guilt is standing right in front of you?

When your guilt stands at 6 foot something, do you allow it’s height to consume you?
Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was what was best. He told me to take the chances. But she told me a secret is a deadly deal with the devil.
My guilt is a man.
My guilt is a girl.
My guilt is the pent up secrets.
My guilt is the secrecy of the two.

In The Morning

Poem, Postcard From The Edge, Uncategorized

Will you still be there in the morning?
How about once the sun comes up and kisses the ground with such graciousness?
Or when the it gives the last kiss to us as the moon rises like an eagle?
Will you still be there?
In the morning?
In your sleepy, doe eyed, self?
I’ll provide the pillows, blankets and the love.
Just tell me.
Will you be there when the fall of us has come tumbling down?
Or when we’ve aged to a fragile set of bones?
How long will you stay?

How Does It Feel?

Old but New, Personal

So we had to act on what happened calming, despite your fear of heights.
Despite that action’s sting.
Steeped into ourselves there was never space.
Never a moment to inhale.
We began to waste.
Beautiful to make it, hell and back to break it.
Now we lay like shattered glass.
How does it feel? Now alone you stand.
Don’t you love that this was planned? You need a map.
How does it feel? Believing that stupid voice.
You made a brilliant choice. You done it all wrong, and now he is just a song.

It began simply just a girl and guy looking for the same old thing.
But before it came and died.
Seeped into ourselves.
Arguments to rate.
With no reason to agree, we began to waste.

Beautiful  to make it, hell and back to break it.
Now we lay like shattered glass.
How does it feel? Knowing now alone you stand.
Don’t you love that this was planned? You need a big old map.
How does it feel? Believing some stupid voice.You made yet another brilliant choice, you’ve done it all wrong, and now he’s just a thought.

Who cares for mostly quiet? And calculated emotion?
While my life sits on my sleeve and I cry out for the ocean.
It’s a sad, sad, thing how much I loved you.
And its a sad, sad, thing to think i still do.

How does it feel knowing that alone you stand?
Don’t you love that this was planned?
How does it feel la douleur exquise?