Her Spirit

Her spirit knows there is something wrong before it is physically manifested.  She has anxious, looming thoughts and feelings about the future.  At night, her body curls up as she dreams of the depressing inevitable.  She awakes, shaking, feeling a tear slide down her cheek.  “No”, she begs.  “Please no…”

The days continue on, the same foreboding ache in her heart.  She tries to ignore it, ignore the signs.  But then. it’s too late.  It is physical, it is real, it has been verbalized into the world.  There is no going back.

Her spirit warned her, tried to protect her heart.  And yet, there was still hurt.  Instead of nightmares, her nights were filled with tears.  Crying until there was nothing left to cry about.  Food lost taste, the sun didn’t bring her joy, she stopped leaving the house.

Her spirit knew what was coming, but a warning didn’t help her broken heart.  Months would go by, full of sadness, loneliness and depressive thoughts.  But one day, her spirit reassured her, she would be whole again.  The hurt would be gone, her brokenness would be healed, and she could live & love once again.

 

If Only He Loved Me…

If he loves me, he will try.

If he loves me, he won’t yell.

If he loves me, he will communicate.

If he loves me, he will listen.

If he loves me, he won’t leave.

But –

If he does not, he will walk away.

 

If I love myself, I will not let his anger affect me.

I can not wait for change, when the waiting is what hurts.

It hurts,

aches,

stings my heart.

If only he loved me…

 

 

two steps ahead, ten steps behind

two steps ahead, ten steps behind

my walls have shed, love is so blind

I give you my all, but you don’t have the time.

 

two steps ahead

and I’m running for your love,

it’s too good to be true,

I feel up and above.

 

ten steps behind

I’m crying in the dark,

my trust was questioned

and it broke my heart.

 

two steps ahead, ten steps behind,

love hurts my head, but we’re still intertwined.

trust must be dead, impossible to find,

so I lay in bed, broken and confined.

 

 

 

Spiraling

Spiraling

Into madness.

My brain

So anomalistic

Idiosyncratic

Unparagoned

Encumbered.

It hurts

Oh how it hurts.

My thoughts

Cut through my mind

Sharp

Painful

Bloody…

I’m bleeding.

A cocaphony

In my brain.

Loud, confusing, caustic.

I’m spiraling

Down

Down

Deeper still.

Indelicate black tunnels

Pull me farther in.

I can’t see now.

I feel the ghosts

Of my past

Tug at me.

I’m pulling apart.

Spiraling into

Lurid dreams.

I’m not dreaming.

I’m failing.

I’m guilty, lost, crazed, unsure.

The spiral is long,

I’m still falling deeper,

Deeper still.

Talk to Me

Talk to me

Say something

One word

Just one

Please…

I need –

I need to know

Where you stand

With me.

Say something.

What do you feel,

What do you think,

What have I done wrong…

I want to explode

I want to rip my hair out

One by one.

These thoughts

They attack me

Like a swarm of bees

Like a hurricane

Like fire.

I’m burning

Slowly melting

into

Nothing.

My body shakes

With fear

Of what you’ll say.

But just say it.

My heart may shatter

My life may end

But I need to know.

Talk to me…

I Think, I Don’t Think by Robert M. Drake

I think

you like the idea

of feeling

too much,

of experiencing

too much

and letting the things

inside you

float away.

I think

you want people

to notice you

but want others

to think that

isolation pumps through

your veins.

I think

you care

too much

but you pretend

as if

nothing bothers you.

I think

you want people

to miss you

but only

the right ones.

I think

you like breaking

apart

but only because

you know by morning

you’ll be

yourself again.

I think

you like being chased

because you want

to be saved

and loved

with the same intensity

an earthquake

would bring.

I think

you want the world

to remember you

but you don’t have

the slightest clue

on becoming memorable.

I think

you want delicate hands

to surf over

your skin

but you think

you’re too hard

for soft hands.

I think

of all these things

and it couldn’t be

more true,

that like me,

you just need someone

to catch you

and tell you

how much they know you –

to reveal

little things about you,

that you

yourself ignore.

I think

the star in you

wants to give light

to other people

and I think

I need it

to help me

find my way.

And, like you,

I think

and feel these things

deeply…

and I know we need

each other…

if ever,

we think

we want

a proper shot

at love.

See Me

You don’t see me.

You see your expectations of me.

You see a version of me that you want,

Or expect me to be.

 

They say “She’s a whore”,

“She’s dumb”

“She’s a bitch”

“She’s selfish”…

You don’t see me.

 

I don’t fit into a box,

I’m hard to understand,

I’m uniquely me.

The world refuses to see me.

Refuses to even try to understand my heart

Because I don’t fit a “type”.

 

They force stereotypes onto me.

Bombard me with skewed perceptions,

Hideous expectations.

They make me believe the lies.

No one sees me.

 

It’s lonely,

Knowing that the world

Doesn’t want to see me.

People I thought were friends,

People I was in love with,

Never knew me.

They never tried.

 

I just want

Someone

To

See 

me… 

 

 

Better

 

What have I done? What am I doing?
I’ve ruined relationships, hurt people. I’ve lied, stolen and cheated.
I have walked away from my faith, allowing the world to change me and influence every part of me.
I have been mean, so mean. So unkind it’s grotesque.
I’ve fallen in love with the wrong men out of desperation.
Desperation… Why?
Because I am afraid of being unlovable.
I am afraid of being alone.
I am afraid of myself.
I’ve made countless mistakes. Committed every sin.
How do I get past it? How do I forget the horrendous person I used to be in order to move on? In order to be better…
Maybe I shouldn’t forget.
Maybe this pain I feel in my heart from hurting others and myself is good.
It reminds me that I’m alive and very much human.
I’m human.
What does that mean?
I breathe, I eat food, I drink water…
I’m broken. I’m ashamed. I’m guilty.
That’s what it means to be human.
To feel.
To remember.
To live.
I want to live, but not like this.
I love my humanity, it reminds me of who I need to be.
Humanity drives me. Humanity loves me. Humanity forgives me.
Forgiveness…
I need it. I crave it.
I’ve made mistakes and I can’t live with myself knowing I am not forgiven.
He forgives me. He heals me. He makes me strong.
My faith leads me, guides me through the darkest of times.
I am whole in Him. I am content in Him.
He makes me new, giving me a fresh start. A fresh start to be better.
I am better…

The Mind

The sun is shining but I’m left in the dark.
A fog blurs my mind like a haunting ghost.

It’s warm outside,
But my body is still cold.

What is wrong with me?
Should I drink some tea?
Can I ignore the tension in my brain?

Oh you’re fine, my mind reassures me.
Maybe it’s lack of sleep!
Tossing and turning in bed all night,
Staring at the mesmerizing moonlight.

I stand in the mirror,
A figure stares back at me.

Hello?
Who is that?

Grey eyes look into mine,
Dark circles hang beneath like heavy clouds,
Clouds ready to burst.

Cheeks are gaunt,
Lips are pursed.
Unattractive.

Am I too skinny?
Do I eat more?

I sit with a plate of food before me,
But I’m not hungry,
Never am because of the pills,
The pills that get me through the day.

My body hurts for no reason,
Muscles sting with each movement,
A knife sits on the table,

Should I make it worse?
Add to the pain that already exists?
No.

It’s warm outside,
And my body is still cold.

I hold on to what I know,
My reality.
The fog in my mind,
And the ache combined.

Historical Fiction: My City

The moon’s light broke through my blinds as I tried to fall asleep. Nothing like a world war keeps you up late night after night of wondering if Hitler will choose to dispose of your people… How could he do such a thing? How can he be stopped?
A flash of light clouded my thoughts. I jumped out of bed, nearly gasping at how cold the floor was below my bare feet, and rushed to the window. My nightgown drifted just above my toes; the fabric shook as I shivered from the winter cold.
My fragile hand drew back the drapes, and I stealthily let one eye peek out the window. A shocking breath escaped my dry lips.
They’re here.
Tanks and soldiers quietly entered the city, walking along my neighborhood streets, guns at the ready.
I swallowed past the ball in my throat and forced myself to move. Rushing to my closet, I yanked my coat from a hanger and hurried to my parents’ room. Knocking on the door first, I let myself in.
They were both sound asleep, oblivious to the horrors approaching just beyond our home’s walls.
“Momma, Papa! Wake up, the Nazis are here!”
My father moaned and squished his face into the pillow; momma began to stir. I ran to kneel by her side, “Momma, we need to do something! What if they are back for the Lewinskys? For us?”
Her blue eyes shot open. Her penetrating gaze frightened me as we stared at each other for a moment, then, she turned to Papa.
“Darling,” she shook his body, “darling wake up!”
He growled at her, “What is it?” Papa turned and rubbed his eyes wearily, then he saw me. I must have looked afraid for he sat up and began to violently tug off the blankets surrounding him, as if he were trapped.
“They’re here.” She mumbled. My father rushed to his window to see the Nazis for himself.
“They’ve already been here! Why would they come back!” He quickly shut the curtains and fell to his knees on the floor, rummaging underneath the bed. After a few sounds of knocking wood, Papa stood straight with a Luger in his hand.
“Go get your sister,” he pointed a finger at me. I silently agreed.
Then, his gaze fell upon Momma’s, “Get the other Lugers and take the girls into the attic with the Lewinskys. Do not come out unless I come to get you.”
She crossed her hands in her lap and nodded; tears escaped her chocolatey eyes.
My father rushed out of the room, and I followed suite towards my sister’s bedroom. I placed a hand on the cold door handle, and paused. Sending a quick prayer to the Lord, I attempted to calm myself. If my sister saw my nervousness, she would be a wreck.
I walked into the small girlish room, unable to speak. Her pale face had an expression of calm – I couldn’t wake her. Carefully, I picked her up in my arms and grabbed one of her coats on the way out. Behind my mother, I quickly made my way to the library. She was holding Papa’s backpack full of Lugers. The library was unusually silent, a heaviness lingered in the space.
Slowly, momma pulled one of the books on the shelf and pushed on the wall, opening the secret door to the attic.
Papa is brilliant for having that built, even before the war started.
I slipped inside the narrow space with my sister, and began to ascend up the staircase. Despite the pitch blackness, I found my way to the top. Momma followed close behind after shutting the library door quietly.
At the top of the stairs, I knocked the code knock for the Lewinsky family to recognize. The door swung open after minutes of waiting. Mrs. Lewinsky looked a mess at opening the door. Her eyes looked swollen from crying and her lips were in a grim line.
The three of us entered, not wanting to say anything.
Both of our families could end up being killed by a gun squad for this.
I gently laid my sister on the small, old couch covering her with the coat I grabbed from her closet. Mr. and Mrs. Lewinsky spoke in urgent whispers with my mother a few feet away. She motioned to the bag of Lugers. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jakob staring blankly towards me.
I stepped to his side for comfort. Years of hiding and now they are here…
Explosions, gunshots, and blood curdling shouts rattled the house – and my sanity.
The six of us sat together in a huddle praying for God to rescue us from the doomed outcome. No one cried.
Suddenly, I could hear the front door creak open. Multiple footsteps scurried around the main floor. A whimper escaped Mrs. Lewinsky’s throat.
My mother had given me a Luger some hours ago, and I could feel my hand tighten around it. More sound moved towards the library. My heart beat nearly out of my chest. Minutes later, the hidden door swung open, allowing us to hear the Nazis come, closer and closer – the door swung open and I immediately stood with my Luger pointing straight at my father.
“Papa?” I lowered my weapon and stood, shaking.
Papa welcomed in soldiers with American uniforms. He gestured to them, “These men are here to take back our city from the Reich. They have agreed to protect us.”
Claps and tears of gladness broke the tension in the room. The soldiers watched us with sincere smiles; they gave each other pats on the backs.
They were here to save us; to save my city.

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