My five line poem titled “Therapy”

Blog, inspiration

Putting pen to paper

Is a hell of a lot cheaper

Than hiring a shrink

I’ve experienced more therapy in a week

Than in a life time of visits

 

-Collins

 

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My poem titled “Walks in the Dark”

Blog, Uncategorized, writing


Walks in the park
Walks in the dark
I wander aimlessly
With no destination in mind
I walk in circles
Sometimes I will go
Up to store windows
And glimpse my reflection
She looks sad
But she should be glad
Because she gets to see
What others do
Walks in the park
Walks in the dark
Maybe someday
I’ll bump into myself
 
-Collins
 

My short story titled “I lie”

Blog, sad, Uncategorized, writing

I curl myself into a ball on the bathroom floor, pulling my knees tightly to my chest. I don’t cry, or sniffle. The only sound is the small breaths I take, frequent and shallow. It seems no matter how hard I try, I can never take a deep breath. My body is constantly in a state of hyperactivity. I can never get enough oxygen.
The small carpet beneath the sink is purple and it scratches against my cheek with its course fibers. If I look forward I can see where my sister dropped a bottle of nail polish years ago, a brilliant shade of red is splashed over the cupboard door in an arc. The red reminds me of passion and how I don’t have any.
I shut my eyes. Why is it so hard to be happy? I try to be, and maybe sometimes I experience a glimpse of happiness, but it disappears like fog in the sunlight. I thought that if I could fake happiness long enough I might start to believe my own lie. But it seems this dark pit that grows in front of me has creeped around behind me. If I take one more step in either direction, I’m going to fall in.
Staring down into the endless black has become routine, expected. I imagine what it’s like to fall in. Will it hurt? Will it be over quickly? Before I can think too far into it a voice will call over my shoulder, asking me to come watch t.v. or come hang out. I step back from the edge and glance back once before rejoining the world.
Sometime it seems like my mind and my body are two separate beings floating separately in space, and both of them turn against my soul. They berate it like school yard bullies. You’re not strong enough for this, you should just give up, no one cares about you, you have no friends, you need to be scared of everything, they say. You begin to take those insecurities to heart and question every good thing that happens to you. Because nothing good can happy to you, you don’t deserve it.
You praise yourself for becoming content with your appearance, but little did you know, that was the easy part. The hard part is fighting yourself, the parts you can’t see, but can feel completely. The wounds cut deeper than anything else. They’re self-inflected. But they don’t feel that way. Because you’re not the kind of person that hurts themselves. Unfortunately, your mind doesn’t care. It doesn’t pick favourites.
You begin to walk that all too familiar dark path. I can’t take this anymore. I’m alone. No one will really miss me. I should just—
A knock on the door jars me out of my thoughts.                                                                                
“Are you okay in there?” my sister asks.
I cringe for a second, all my muscles tensing. I push up from the floor and work to sound relaxed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I lie to my sister. I’m not fine. I’ve never been fine. But she doesn’t need to know that.
-Collins

Pirouettes

sad, Uncategorized, writing

The world around me spins and spins, the images blurring and rushing past. The rain pelts my skin, my arms stretched out beside me taking the harsh blasts. My lashes are drenched to the point I can barely get them open.
But I love it, this feeling. I wonder if this is what he had felt like.
The sharp blades of grass between my toes, sticking to my soles. The dizzying drop of my stomach as I push myself faster and faster. Always faster. Until my body can no longer handle the movement and crashes me to the ground. My heart beating like a drum in my chest, my lungs gasping for much needed breath. The laughter that is so close to a sob you could never distinguish the difference.
Once I’ve finally got my bearings…that’s when it all comes back. The heavy sadness that fills my days. The crippling pain that takes over my whole being. Now the sobs are real as my heart breaks. I tilt my head up to the sky, leaving my eyes open this time. The water washing away the tears that I can’t stop.
His face comes to mind and I hang my head. His beautiful, smiling face as he ran around this very park, doing the very thing that I was. Only on a bright sunny day, ice cream smears on his cheeks. His cherub curls bouncing wildly around him as he begged me to join him. The feeling of annoyance I got as another text from work came in, distracting me.
The sharp sound of bone crunching against something hard. My utter fear as I looked up from the revolting device in my hand, the scream that ripped from my throat as I realized what had just transpired.
I had failed my little boy, who was now laying in a pool of his own blood, his skull fractured by the rock he had tripped into.
And it was all my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I was busy, too busy for my own son. Now he was gone.
And all I had left was the spinning. The never ending pirouettes.
I start the cycle over again.

-Turner