More than all the bad things in the world
what I hate the most is myself
How are people supposed to understand how I feel
If I don’t even understand how I feel
I wish people stayed in my life
People come and go, but never stay
Even the people who I thought would always be by my side
Seem to disappear.
The Alpha and Omega of The Out of Body Girl
By: Joyce Hayden
I. Flying Away/Blueberry Lane
At the new babysitter’s house, up past Jane drive, past the hospital-green water tower, in the new section of houses, it will happen. Your two year old brother will tumble out of the car, while you brush your mother’s cigarette ash off your red church dress. A coldness will rush at you once the woman opens her front door. Stand on the stone doorway alone waving at your parents, until the silver Buick disappears. When the woman barks: GET IN HERE AND SHUT THAT DOOR, cross the threshold from light to dark, from known to unknown. Place your hand over the knot in your stomach. Calm your fears that something bad will happen. Remind yourself you’re seven years old. You can take care of yourself. Don’t blink if you can help it. Notice every detail from now until 10 tonight.
When the woman places Michael in a room down the hall and points her finger to the back yard swings, say No. OUT NOW, she will bellow. Tell her you’re staying inside with Michael. Walk backwards toward the room he’s in; don’t let her see you shaking. When you’re in the room, watch cartoons. Let your guard down when he falls asleep. Awaken to a door clicking into place.
Scan the room for your brother. When you try to stand, a heavy hand will push you back. When you open your mouth to speak, that hand will squeeze your jaw. Wonder why your skin is crawling like ants all over you when his other hand works its way under your red dress. “Where’s Michael Where’s Michael Where’s Michael” will reverberate in panicked waves through your brain. It will happen as the big boy’s hand moves up your thigh, then higher. Your throat knotted, the blur of no words will send you outside the body, the way fluffy seeds of milkweed burst their pods, and rise.
Her
**WARNING: Do not read if you are sensitive to or triggered by abusive relationships of any kind including domestic abuse, emotional abuse, or rape. This is purely a fictitious poem hoping to create more awareness regarding physical abuse.**
Her hands shook softly
I noticed that much
And that her innocent heart was just too good to touch.
I remember that night
Very well indeed
She had one too many drinks
And that heart started to bleed.
I carried her weight
From the couch to the bed
Curiously wondering what words went unsaid
Contemplating if I should sleep in her bed
So I crawled up next to her
Hoping I hadn’t misred.
There she laid
Thoughtless and dazed
Her body black
With white lines across her face.
My hands shook softly
But I wasn’t afraid
So I leaned in slowly
And kissed that beautiful babe.
Her curves were sexy
Luring me in too deep
She suddenly spoke out,
“Stop, I need some sleep.”
But it was too late now
And I wasn’t even sorry
This kind of thing was supposed to happen at these parties.
She laid there, still
Tears streaming from her eyes
As I finished in ecstasy
Her purity was now mine.
All thanks to a little dose of red wine
Tequila shots, Vodka, Manhattans and lime.
She staggered to the shower
Stripped of all her clothes and pride
When she turned around and whispered,
“I wished to be a virgin bride.”
But it was too late now
And we weren’t even sorry
Because there was nothing she could do
She had to face reality.
By: Stacy Wacks
I know we’ve all had those experiences in our lives where we felt obsolete. I know that for me, the hardest was my freshman year of college.
People always ask me why I would ever leave Florida and come back north for college; I wouldn’t blame them for asking. The weather was amazing and my college at the time was fairly easy: minimal work and lots of play. I was also in an amazing fashion program and got to experience Miami fashion week. I even sang a duet with Billy Joel. I know. Freshman year was a surreal blur, sometimes it’s hard to believe any of that actually happened. I was having an out of body experience. I was dancing on table tops at age 18 in downtown Miami at 2 am. Looking back, I am honestly amazed I even made it back to my dorm room on some nights.
It was my past life, but I wasn’t truly happy.
Everyone sees an asshole
A jerk, a loudmouth show off with too many opinions and too many flaws to love
But my mirror shows a scared little boy
Asking where the time went
Asking why did he make the decisions he did
Crying but ashamed of it
Depressed but unable to tell anyone
Anxious but riddled with guilt for having “made up” problems
Lonely when surrounded by people
Overwhelmed with thoughts when alone
My mirror shows a scared child in pain
That doesn’t want to ask for help
Because asking for help means there’s a problem that’s real
Everyone sees a frightened little boy trying to be a man
But my mirror shows a guy, an asshole,
A loudmouth jerk who uses his problems as excuses
An insecure man who writes down his problems
Because the child inside him won’t allow him to bottle it up
And suffocate himself anymore
This poem comes from Nicholas Woods .You can find more of his poetry on his website, Tumblr, and Instagram page.
Always remember you are not alone.
You are loved.
PF
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This post comes from Raili Tanska in Australia. Follow her through a day where she remembers to never give up after a troubling start.
Dear Hope 