nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

Where do I go from here? - ORIGINAL POEM

Where do I go from here? Where do I go from this dark place I have found myself in? I have found myself home, for this dark place is a blanket, protecting me, isolating me, its like a second skin I wear. I have found myself in this place where light cannot reach me, and it feels just fine, for I don't know how I'd manage it when the sun shines upon me, upon all my vulnerabilities, fears, as I hold close my chest each and every committed and imagined sin.

Music floods my brain, it reminds me why I remain in this dark place, why I do not allow the outside world to intrude upon my sanctuary of sadness, which has served as a safe haven, protecting my fragile psyche from further pain; it feels familiar, but I see the smile and laughter of those around me, as I retreat inwards, and I wish to re-join the human race, to be as they are, to find happiness in the small, insignificant moments, as events of magnitude eclipse my timeline forevermore. I think of you, it has been many months, years, decades since I last saw your face, and you still haunt me, though I do not know why, why my brain clings to the past, painting rainbows and smiles upon the faces of anger I recall so vividly, as though those same faces were before me, still as they had always been, unchanging, casting sunlight through unbroken clouds of thunder and rain. My heart feels weak, my brain feels tired and worn out, bend yet unbroken, watching as walls built as firm boundaries are broken through, smashed to pieces as the advancing troops take what they had seen as theirs, as my spirit fractures beneath the weight of concepts foreign, strange, new, harmful in all the worst ways - beaten, subtly changed, bruised, different now as I had always been, simply sore.

And then there come the few moments of bliss, where I am able to forget, where I force myself to forget, for it offers a degree of comfort, allowing me to feel cloaked in something intangible, merely conceptual, though so real and material to my unwell brain, as I am forced out into the world; it manifests in the words I say, the things I do, the people I interact with, but sometimes it appears from thin air, a gift from above or simply a long list of coincidences as I am granted a brief, vague invite to visit the world I inhabit, until I am pushed back into the shadows once more, left with my cloak of sadness and grief, and the strange sense of missing out on all the world has to offer, as though I have no right to those moments of forgetfulness, relief, bliss, unobtainable bliss. And now I write these words, and still I find I can only do in utter silence, away from the watchful eyes of the world, as it picks apart my words and actions as though it were made for them, for these words will be my own and remain so, with only the select few to understand what it means to be denied happiness in its simplest form, to be an outlier, to know all its entails to be a girl. But I write them not to paint a picture of resentment, of a girl who sees the world in black and white, to never know what it means to find her purpose and understand her worth in a world not built for her, but to gift my words to others, if only temporarily to grant them insight into my world, to reveal the contents of my heart and say, in words candid, true, not shrouded in dishonesty and contempt, but to push back against the oppressive forces of my mind, to find comfort in my own ways, as I demonstrate how I look upon my hands and cannot believe they are my own, but I will use them to change what I must, that they are my own, not hers, nor theirs, nor his.

The hands of God rest upon my chest, they keep me in place, but with these hands I write to all who read and understand, who write and understand, who speak and know in their own hearts what it means to feel at odds with the darkest corners of one's mind, and still say all which they hold dear, to spill their guts and speak, speak, speak in voices loud, clear, assertive, that they hold a unique perspective on the universe, and will be the key to unlocking the secrets to shadows, thunder, rain, sunlight and sin in its simplest form; sin, I understand it so, for guilt and shame have followed me like monsters at my heels, as others' regret were placed upon my shoulders, and I hated it so. I cannot look at my face any longer, not for very long, not until I have prepared myself for the moment where my mind picks apart my features on impulse. I wish it were not so, but wishing is a fool's dream, still it remains a habit. I wish to be a fool, for I wish to hold myself high and show the world how to be, how not to feel and look upon themselves as if it were only natural to display disgust at one's natural look - between politics and habits, I am forever torn. Music teaches us self love, but it serves only as a tool to generate profit, causing our voices and opinions of one's self to be brought low, so low, so very low.

I am surrounded by reminders of others I cannot forget, and of those who have forgotten me, but I give myself permission to forget, for it is the only way to break away from habits which shall bring me down to my lowest, which shall be my downfall. If only my heart listened, it follows its own path. If only my mind believed the foolish idea that love can be forgotten, that to love is to not hate and to hate is to not love, that I'll never be rid of the memories of an old flame who keeps me in the dark place, where I replay until the end of time, who always, no matter how high, crushed each of my walls.