don't leave

Alena

(Alena's POV)

I stood there tapping my amber coloured amber vans on the rubber black stage. The blackness felt as if it would suck me in all the way under. Saving me from my broken life. I chased those thoughts out of my tortures place I call my mind. I was pulled out of my destructive thoughts by the counsellor that coughed below me. His cough made me uncomfortable and made me wriggle my toes against the warm fabric that was begging to rise on the inside of my shoe. It's not that I'm scared of germs it's just little things annoy me and and get on my nerves.

My black silk shirt clung to my almost lifeless body. It swallowed my tiny pale frame, the colour was unflattering yet the only colour I felt safe in. My "Happy colour." I'm very clumsy which doesn't help most cases. Which makes white clothing off limits for me. The fabric was so fine at times is slipped off my broad shoulders. That's one of the many many features I hated. I took on the broad of shoulders from my mother. Who looked nothing more than a glass china doll you would find on a high shelf in an antique shop which collected dust and dead flies. Her pale complication shone like the moon during the darkest of nights. Freckles upon her face danced like starts across the blackened sky.
Her dark brown eyes looked at me undressing me with every glare, they held a story in which she would never share. Her eyelashes so long if she looked up I swear she could fly away. I really wish I had those eyelashes so I could fly right out of this room. Away from all these people. Isn't that what every girl wants? Long eye lashes.
"if you weren't gonna guide me why bring me into the light, must have done something to make you want to run and hide. Why do why couldn't you just like your life. Every girl needs a mother and dammit I needed you. Instead you dug for cover and ran from the truth." -the letter kehlani

Just like the china doll, my mothers lips were small and tattered from all the lies and dignity killing words that clawed there way up her throat and out of her raspberry coloured lips, the words left deeper wounds on me. Ones that she could never see and ones that no man could ever see. My mother's clothing choice was awkward and consisted of revealing, heavy dark clothing. The kinda clothing you would find at a thrift store with a twist and pop of elegance. To many she'd look like your average mother she truly wasn't, she was much worse. Ruining and destroying my childhood leaving
with many of her mental illness and disorders. Living my life with borderline personality disorder is a huge burden.

That's one topic I liked to steer clear of....family, My mother to me now was just the dreadful woman that had given birth to me, she had no significant value or meaning. Even saying the word mother doesn't bring a spark of excitement like it should in most and it never triggers any happy memories of us building snow forts or gathered around the tree opening presents at Christmas. Because unlike most my so called "mother" is to blame for most of my problems and mistakes that tag along and drag me down. It's like a game of hide and seek. But I'm constantly hiding from the mistakes my mom made and threw down on me. Which seek me out at my weakest and most vulnerable points in my dark life.

Because of my mother and the thoughts I carry with my brain I will never allow myself to love. I don't want to ever find myself caught up in that killing miserable disease. Heartbreak can kill, I remember reading an article about a man who had lost his family in a horrific car accident. He died of a broken heart only a week or two later. He sat alone in his mansion surrounded by all his marble ashtrays and pearl statues lonely and depressed. No matter how much he had he had lost everything in that crash. Anything to him which was of value, I will never get trapped in love. Because just like that man. I myself could die of a broken heart. Or like Sylvia Plath, I keep a copy of her book 'The bell jar' on my night stand right beside my bed. Pearl candles kept it safe underneath untouched.She fell in love with a man. He ended up leaving her for another woman. Leaving Sylvia alone to raise their son, Sylvia was so depressed ( like me ) and alone she stuck her head right in the oven! She was sick of being a house wife and ended it. Love kills...

"How frail the human heart must me, a mirrored pool of thought."-Sylvia Plath

"The heart is a weak and strange thing, how can one give up everything and anything for love? Why would one do such a thing for such a childish impossible, impulsive game? In this game there is no end or winning, it's just an endless cycle of self pity, doubt and distraction. It continues on and on like the constant changing weather or seasons. No matter how hard you fall and get back up, love will strike you down again. People leave and no one stays forever.. so why would we give in to such a cruel tasking emotion? The human heart really is a strange thing." I nervously picked at the navel blue nail polish on my nails. Folding the slightly crumbled piece of paper with all the words I just split out into the audience back into my jean pocket.

"That was very uh.... interesting, good work Alena I just think we should take a more positive approach at these sorta things."
I looked down at small crowd of people that sat in front of me slumped in their grey heavy "psycho proof" chairs.  These chairs were heavily waited so a 'disturbed' person wouldn't pick them up and throw them at people.Their faces were emotionless and blank just as mine was, I didn't have to see a mirror to know that my face held no trace of emotion. I looked at the chair closest in front of me where the councillor that made the comment on my poem was sitting. He wore tight blue jeans and a white button up shirt, his voice was squeaky and kinda made me chuckle a bit. He looked nothing like the councillor I pictured in my mind. This man looked way to young and weary.

I nodded at his remark and went to step off of the small stage like perch I was standing on in front of the crowd of mentally disturbed teens like myself. But a small slow clap rose from the doorway Pulled my wandering eyes to a boy. Making me stop dead in my tracks. His hair was blonde and fell perfectly on his face, a slight shy smile crept onto his mouth.
"Wooo!" he was the only one shouting and clapping. It made me feel dizzy and sick because it made me uncomfortable, it's like I had just preformed on Broadway by the way he was clapping. I hated having attention or praise thrown at me, I never feel good about myself to begin with so having someone try to convince me other why's sucked.I watched my feet and walked down the small three steps to my chair, I looked quickly over at he doorway where the strange boy was just standing. But he was gone. I sighed and ignored the embarrassing situation like it never happened,fixing the peeling name tag on my slippery shirt.

I blocked out the other poems or stories the people had said. Because I was distracted by that boy once again. He was sitting outside of the room on a low bench looking at me. Every time we made eye contact he would quickly jerk his head like it was a deep mistake that we had caught eyes.

As soon as out "help session" ended I got up and clumsily tried walking out avoiding the strange boy but before I could turn the door knob. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder, I was to afraid to turn around because I knew who's hand it was. I turned around and there he was the strange boy with the perfect glowing face. In that moment I was speechless. His eyes glistened alive like little pebbles. Smooth and a light grey colour, a small smile crept up in his face as he began to speak. I had no idea who his perfect stranger was but he for sure stopped me and my thinking process.

"Are you from another world?
I've never seen someone like you
Beautiful stranger, how do you do?
Told me, is there something I can do for you?"- perfect stranger marina and the diamonds