Wednesday, February 15, 2012


I'm pretty sure at this point, I have maybe one or two readers, so I'm going to continue to post for myself all willy-nilly. Today I'm digging through my old poems again, and came across two Firsts:

-First time I admitted to myself that I am bisexual (although it's clear from the poem that I was still resisting a little)
-First time I admitted to myself that I was seriously depressed

I'm posting the second one here; maybe I'll do the other one later.

Background: I've been dealing with depression and serious self-esteem issues for as long as I can remember. I'm not even kidding; I recall being self-conscious and self-loathing as far back as my single-digit years. This poem was written either in late high school or early college... I know because it was put into my college literary-art magazine in 1998, which would have been my freshman year.

I wrote this at home, at my kitchen table. I'd been making macaroni and cheese (shout out to Kraft!), and was sullenly watching the water boil. Back then, I wouldn't so much write poems and they would write themselves in my head, and I would dutifully commit them to paper. My brain doesn't really do that anymore, which is kind of sad.


here is the depressing suicidal poem that I wrote. I'm not including the title because I "cleverly" titled it my own first name (on the off chance anyone reading this doesn't actually know me, I go by my middle name, so it was a semi-sneaky way of saying HEY THIS IS ABOUT ME OKAY).

the coarse dark waves
forced roughly over her pale smooth skin
filled with treacherous wrath.
They say it's like going to sleep.
she was so tired.
her eyes closed slowly
 redly veiling the inky dark blueness
as it rapidly blackened.
she opened her mouth
breathing in death as easily as life.
it tasted so awful.
her eyes flew open and were immediately violated
    by salty frustration.
 she was making the choice.
 the decision was snatched away
as her mind overturned and she struggled
  to go back.
I want to go back!
and midnight fell firmly about her.


  1. I haven't written any poetry in years, even when I did it was something I would do very rarely. This is one of the few I can still find, most of them are just completely gone.

    chasing me
    terrorizing me
    it's breath on the back of my neck
    what is it, who is it, where is it?
    i don't know
    i turn
    i look
    but always there is nothing there
    the fear
    it rises
    it grows
    it consumes
    what is it that chases me?
    the pain
    the hurt
    the ache
    the insatiable desire to disappear
    who am i really?
    its getting closer
    it reaches
    it grabs
    why do my eyes close in fear?
    i look
    i scream
    i cry out in dispair

    ....the thing is me
    and slowly i consume myself

  2. I went through an e.e. cummings phase. I bet you're surprised!

    Bah, these comments suck. My *art* demands whitespace! (pretend the underscores aren't there)