You Don’t Listen
You. Are. Smothering. Me.
Stop.
I told you I needed space.
I told you I was fine, that I just didn’t want to talk.
Deal with it.
I am not a baby.
You have nothing to worry about.
Don’t blow up my phone with a million and a half text messages about how I’m ignoring you, and how you’re “in trouble” and all that bullshit.
I’m not your mom.
I can’t punish you.
So stop acting like I am.
Maybe I’m just busy.
Did you ever think of that?
When I say leave me alone, I mean it.
That doesn’t mean change the subject, or try to apologize.
It’ll just piss me off more.
I don’t give a rat’s ass if you didn’t do anything wrong.
I already said it has nothing to do with this.
I just want some time to myself.
I will talk to you when I’m good and fucking ready, and I’m not entirely sure when that will be, so get on with your life.
Seriously.
The End
A certain vulnerability escapes me while I’m
Curled up with these pages.
Minutes tick by, days pass,
And yet, I am still encased in this world of words.
Slight at first, my love and passion grew
And has now been decimated into the smoking pile of ashes
In which the characters of my family lay.
Dead and scorched.
Dead and unnecessarily so.
Anger forms from what was once such a warm feeling,
And I am left with only the tears of sorrow and confusion
That stream down my face.
A trilogy.
So wrogly ended.
To hate what is loved is a strange sense.
I feel it as it trickles into the blood of my betrayed heart,
Leaving me with these words only:
Poor Annie.
Weaknesses chasing
Heart beat racing
A scream for light
Pierces the night
Little by little
She breaks away.
Small pieces torn off
With each passing day.
Crumbling
She is delicately toeing the edge.
Each scream, each name, each punishment
Pushes her even further backwards.
She can’t hold on much longer.
The day will come
When she won’t be able to take it anymore,
And she will simply…
Break.
So push her.
Does it make you feel better?
Her tears mend your pain?
Push her again.
She’s already wavering on the edge
Of a broken cliff.
It’s slowly crumbling away underneath her.
A dangerous game of balance and control.
Who will win?
She has stayed sane for this long,
But nothing is forever.
So try again.
Try to push her.
Because this time,
It’s guaranteed,
She is going to push back.
Perfect Daughter
Why?
What the fuck is the point?
You’re family, you’re supposed to be doing things to help each other.
But nope. Not you.
You hurt him.
All the time.
What fucking satisfaction do you get out of that?
Do you not like him? You want him to get fired? What kind of sister does that?
You’re cruel. You do it to shine a brighter light on yourself. You do it to make yourself look better.
Real cool, bro.
“Yeah, I’m a child of God, I have a calling, blah blah blah.”
That’s bullshit.
I thought being a child of God is practicing selflessness and caring for others.
You tear him down, you instigate, you throw him under the bus for your own self gain. I don’t even believe in God, and I’m a better sister than that. Fuck, I’m a better person than that. Maybe I should try church out…
I don’t think you have the right to call yourself a Christian. You’re selfish, egotistical and just… mean. You take, take, take. I hope it feels good. I hope screwing your family over is worth it.
He has no motivation. He has no confidence in himself. He feels hopeless and insecure because of you. Because you cut him down. Your parents don’t encourage him, he never feels successful in the things that matter because you’re always in the spotlight. You have such a low fucking self-esteem that the only way you know how to make yourself feel better is by forcing him down below you.
Every time you break him down, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces. I’ll always be there. So try it again. See what happens. I’m gonna help build him up. And then you’ll have nothing.
Well done.
I’m so proud of you! :D
-.-
Fuck off, bitch.
“Make it a practice to judge persons and things in the most favorable light at all times and under all circumstances.” -Saint Vincent de Paul
The first time I read these words, I sighed. They are so brilliant, yet so absurd. How can humankind remove judgment? It is an “instinct“. It is a “habit“. But, as I sit back and think about it, all instincts are partly learned, correct? Passed down from human to human, generation to generation? As with habits. They are all learned. From your parents, grandparents, friends, and environment. In the beginning, we don’t know what is right and wrong. We have not yet been exposed to the evil in the world at that young of an age. For children, there is no such thing as black or white, skinny or fat, smart or dumb. Just people. Yes, of course, they will use those words as descriptions (they don’t know any better), but they see no wrong in doing so. They may shout, “Mom, look at that fat man’s shirt!” or “What is that black man’s name?“, but they mean nothing by it. When you’re little, you don’t know what racism, obesity or stupidity is, and frankly, you really don‘t care. It is when you grow older, that the problem begins, and the judgment starts. So, in saying that judgment is instinctual and habitual, you are making an excuse. I’ve heard the words, “Everyone judges.” Yes, humans judge. But, in saying “everyone judges“, you are justifying the fact that you are guilty of it. It’s no different from the old and overused phrase, “If everyone else jumps off a bridge, will you, too?” The answer to that is usually a “no”. It doesn‘t make it right just because everybody does it.. So, I ask you this: if everyone else judges, will you fall to the powers of conformity and judge as well? Unfortunately, for others, the answer isn’t as simple. For me, however, it is not. My answer is always no. I do not judge. I will not judge. Actually, I take that back. I do judge, and I will continue judging. But, I will make it a “practice” not to. I will practice and try my hardest to positively judge everyone and -thing.
I guess you could say my guide is open-mindedness. When I meet someone, I judge him or her both negatively and positively, as “everyone does”. However, my main goal in life, aside from survival and success, is to follow the wise words of Mr. de Paul. If I can perfect the art of stopping to think a minute about my negative judgments, I am positive I will become a much happier person. Before my initial impressions sink in permanently, I must say to myself, “Wait, I don’t know this person. I don’t know who they are, what they’ve been through, and why they’re the way they are.” In doing so, I hope to lessen the evil of humanity so blessedly given to me. I have been a criminal of judgment, but also a victim. And, let me just say, it is neither satisfying nor enjoyable, no matter the side. In the end, we are all people. We all feel. We are all different, so how is it possible to compare one person to another and concoct an idea of what is “normal”? Who gave us the right to that power? I’ve noticed that people picks apart others to make themselves feel better. We see someone we’re jealous of, we’re angry with, someone who has upset us, and we mentally tear them to pieces. We pick out all of their faults, bring them to light, and push their strengths into the dark. We find humor in it. Picking on people is fun, and somewhat acceptable in this society. Those who make fun of others, those who judge, are all just self-conscious. They are so engulfed within the darkness of diffidence that the only way they can see light is by stealing it from other people through judgment, whether it is vocalized or not. What good does it do to constantly have negative thoughts festering in your mind? How, in the long run, will that make you feel better? It won’t. It never will. So, I’ve made it a point in my life to not fall to this evil. Our society places too much value on appearances, fitting in, conformity, and normality. I am guided by my developing ability to accept every person, no matter their size, race, religion, intelligence level, mind-set, views, appearance, etc. I admire those who are guided by this as well, and I hope that the rest of humanity will someday learn to do the same.
Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Ha!
That’s what I have to say to you.
Ha ha ha ha ha.
You make me laugh.
So fucking hard.
You wanna talk shit?
Go ahead.
Because I’m your daughter?
You brought me up, so you have the right to tear me down?
“Tiffini, stop being obnoxious.”, “You are so loud.”, “You’re such a know-it-all.”, “You’re being immature.”, “Stop acting like you’re an adult, you’re not. You are a kid.”
Yeah, okay.
Bitch, try looking in the mirror every once in a while.
I’m not perfect, but neither are you.
Sorry that I go out without my hair and makeup done.
Sorry that I wear sweats.
Sorry that I don’t give a shit about what I look like.
Sorry that I don’t strive to impress people with my appearance or strive to impress anyone in general.
Sorry that I’m not like you.
Not an egotistical, beauty-obsessed, empty bitch.
Like you.
Call me fat one more time.
Ask me what’s going on with my clothes one more time.
One. More. Time.
I will promptly reply with:
“I don’t care what you think.”
Because I don’t.
I don’t care what you think, who you are, how you feel.
You’ve never given me that courtesy,
Why should I give it to you?
I shouldn’t.
Even though I have,
I shouldn’t.
So, I won’t.
Not anymore.
Try changing me, bitch.
It’s too late.
You’ve lost.
Peace out.
If I had created the world,
I would remove judgment from the human race. I would have everyone look as a blob. Every time you look at someone, all you see is a blurry mass and their name. That is it. And it would be the same for everyone else looking at you. All the blobs would look the same, you distinguish between people by their names. In order to see someone clearly, you would need to talk to them, learn their story, see their personality before seeing their face. Only after seeing their inside, would their outside appear. And everyone’s appearance would reflect what’s on the inside. The good people would be beautiful, all the bad people would be hideous. If your personality changed, so would your appearance. You would only see the people you really know. Even if they can’t see you. This way, everyone could be whatever they wanted. They could look any way they want. There would be no trends, no standards. You would only need to impress who really knew you. And, of course, yourself. Everyone would be able to see themselves for who they truly are. That’s how it would be.
Mother the Wolf
A huntress.
Wild.
Crazy.
Her words will rip you to pieces like the sharp teeth that tug at your skin.
She prowls around with nothing to say but an occasional bark of orders.
Into the cave she sinks.
The cave of solitude
Away from all those she’s abandoned.
Shadows cover her pretty face.
Shadows of hatred and pain.
She turns away from all that is love.
Caged in her own mind.
She needs attention.
She’s been deprived.
She scavenges around for it
In all the wrong places.
“Lost Dog” posters litter our trash.
But she doesn’t realize
That she’s the one we’ve lost.
The carefree mom with not a worry in the world.
We are desperate to find her.
But we fear the worst.
We fear she’s gone.
Forever.
Cake
Why don’t you wear makeup anymore?
Because it makes me feel fake.
I’d rather be ugly without it than attempt to be pretty with it.
It’s like a cake.
Pretty and nice looking on the outside,
But once you cut into it and scrape the icing off,
There’s just a boring, plain inside.
Yeah, I don’t even like cake.
(I prefer ice cream).
It feels gross.
Like a layer of fake pretty has been placed over my freedom to be me.
I’m not myself the second I put it on.
So, I’ve decided to scrape off the icing.
I’ve decided to liven up my true self.
That boring, plain inside?
It’s now my everyday.
And I do everything I can to be the best
That I can be
just being me.
I don’t hide anymore.
I embrace my appearance.
And I don’t care about the judgement.
Take me as I am or not at all.
So what if I never get married?
So what if I never get another boyfriend?
I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want me for me.
He should think I’m beautiful no matter what I look like.
Beauty is only skin deep.
So, for now, I’m gonna work on making the inside of the cake beautiful.
And hopefully, in turn, that’ll make me beautiful on the outside, too.
Flame
She’s angry.
Fire rips through her veins,
tearing through her body,
attacking her heart.
Flames lick the remains of her soul and
all that is left is the gray pile of ashes
…
waiting
…
to be carried away by
the cold winds of hurt.
Burn, burn, burn
Burn away the imperfections.
Who cares about the pain?
Who cares that she can’t sit down without feeling it cut against her skin?
Release. She needs release.
Oh beautiful Perfection, why are you so far away?
Erase the impurities, the pain.
All that will be left is the scar, fading away like the memory of its purpose.
The cold water leaks down over her face
as the blood weaves itself between her fingers
and finds its way to the drain
Where it spirals
Down, down, down
Into the dark of nothingness.
She likes the sight of it, she likes to see the blood.
It reminds her that she’s human.
If nothing else, she can still bleed.
Her body is still attempting to heal itself.
She is sick. Ill.
The tears run down her wet cheeks.
Nonstop.
She’s a wet rag left out in the burning sun.
Used.
Left alone to drip itself dry.
Left out, left alone.
Drip, drip, drip
The blood and tears mix into a whirlpool of pain
Stain the porcelain sink
Stain her white hands
Stain the blank white page that is now her soul.
She withholds her feelings.
Repressing these emotions.
They see a smile. They see a content grin.
She sees a teeth-clenching grimace
She feels pain.
Run, run, run.
It burns.
Like a forest without rain
Like a throat without water
It burns.
—Like an open wound—
She’s choking on the smoke.
It’s smothering her.
Burn,
Burn,
Burn.
You ask what I’m thinking about.
You.
That’s what I’m thinking about. Only and always you.
But, I can’t trust my thoughts.
Yesterday, in the library, when you kissed me-
I didn’t want to think. I just closed my eyes and tried to let your lips take away the pain, but my mind was going wild. My head was poisoned with questions that I didn’t want answered: “Is this how he kisses her? Does he put his hands on her like this? Lean in and breathe on her neck, just like he’s doing right now? I’ll bet she’s a better kisser than me. What can I do to prove that I’m better? Wait, I’m not. I’m not better. He wouldn’t have needed her if I was.”
That’s why I turned away.
But you called me back, whispered my name.
And again I turned back. Turned back into the pain-driven idiot that you make me and I faced you.
I wanted to cry. Even looking at you pains me. We act happy, we laugh, we smile. But there’s so much more to my smile than you see. I think of Her #1. And then I see Her #3 and I get sick to my stomach and want to run.
Timeline:
Me——Her#1——-Me——-Her#2——Me——Her#3——Me——Her#1——Me
Do you see the common denominator?
I want to be able to look in your eyes and not think of her. It hurts me that I’m jealous. I think to myself, “I wonder what they talk about. What does she look like, what has he told her about himself, and what does he know about her? Do they have a song? How did they meet? What movie did they see, did he hold her hand, what did they do? I’ll bet he didn’t think of me. Not once. What does he like about her? Did he give her anything? What has he said to her, how did he charm her, same way as with me?”
These questions plague my every thought, all my dreams, my actions. There’s nothing I can do to stop them. Nothing to confirm or deny my assumptions.
I’m helpless.
I’m weak.
I’m stupid.
The pain will come and
I can’t be saved.
And again, I leave you with an even lower confidence level than that of which I had before.
Sing, my little wanderer of love. Sing- All the world needs is a little music.
Soda
It drips down my throat like the rain on my window.
Bubbling, refreshing.
Crisp and clean.
All I can think of is sparkles and berries.