Suicide by silence

cropped-art-black-black-and-white-branco-bridge-favim-com-114786.jpgThis one is a doooozy.
I am as high as a kite; the world is woozy…
and coming down would be walking into the approaching
waters of a category 5 hurricane, suicide by drowning in my own
obscurity. So, I will just stay up here where I can be lost
and not feel guilty because I can’t find my way. A mental
drifter with no real home or place to stay; calmness forming
because I know that my time is coming up short and I won’t
have to prepare for another race to pretend I am okay. Just
a memory down a timeline where people play like they were
there with me along the way.

I was reluctant to post this one, because I wrote it last week after a binge of Xanax
and Zoloft, trying to take the edge off. In retrospect, I realize how dangerous my
mind was sitting in that moment in time. My life sparks were slowly burning off, one by
one, and I honestly wasn’t afraid of the darkness, should it have me.

I am sharing this because I want someone else who is reading this and can relate to understand that you are NOT alone. Often times, we feel like others don’t care about what we are going through, but really it is because they don’t know how to respond. When someone lacks remembrance that they have a purpose/or they have lost it (and I feel that it is better to understand that we do NOT know what our purpose ..but rather, that we have one period) then it is easier to give up on life.

I see a lot of people letting us know that life for them is ending soon on social media. It breaks my heart because I can relate. I can relate to the cry for help, and I can relate to not wanting to face it/be talked down to about it/have it be minimized. Depression is a real ,REAL thing, and if I can help one other person feel like they need to speak their hardest thoughts then I am here to listen with my whole heart, mind, and soul.

kymmiethewriter@gmail.com.

 

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The Lion or the House Cat.

The Lion or the House Cat.

The dark room slowly filled with strangers with the familiar face of uncertainty and a lust for love,
or filled with the love of lust. All searching for that one moment to climax, to finish in ecstasy,
with some hoping to then begin a new chapter of love and romance with someone of the same-sex. This room, a large yet seedy nightclub in the middle of San diego's gay utopia 
of Hillcrest allowed everyone the freedom of ambiguity, to be set free in a land where they could be a lion or a house cat, to chase and devour their next meal like 
it were their last, or to sit and wait to be served by their master, to be the aggressor or to be taken down, everyone played a role. 

I needed a place like this. I needed choices. I wanted to feel the differences between being right and doing wrong, to be allowed the choice to be confused and then 
figure out the answer on my own. My sexuality had become the biggest mark in my life. I needed to find out if I was the straightened arrow that my heart had longed for,
 or if I was indeed the sexual deviant that my mind had often conjured up, I wanted to see if a woman's touch could answer these questions for the rest of my life, 
so I could go to my grave and know that in this life, I didn't make the mistake of not asking enough questions, not seeking enough answers. 
Satanic, men who were accountants by day had turn into sado-masochists, women who had children at home were there to experience another woman's mouth on their breasts. 
I stared out by the dj booth, sorted through the options. "Not feminine enough", "Not my type", "Too many tattoos", nothing catching my eye, but I remained seated, 
waited for her to walk through the door. I knew exactly what she was waiting for...

I turned around to order another drink, the bartender looked familiar, latina with a bunch of tattoos and a beautiful smile. She went out to the neo soul nightclub that would 
jump off downtown, but on certain nights she'd spend her nights in the clubs trying to attract a woman to appease her secret appetite, to get attention from pretty girls
in order to say that she'd done it. There were so many like her. 

"Excuse me, haven't I seen you down at Onyx?" I ask her with direct eye contact.
"Oh my god, yes! What're you doing here love?" She smiled big.
I gave her no answer, let her imagination give her everything that she needed. 

She waited for me, as I internally deemed her my first conquest;

Waiting to be served by the master; her obedience, my control.
Realizing at that moment, that I am the most dangerous lion out there.


New Tear

My conscience
Bleeds;
Like it were stabbed
In revenge.
So much damage done.
But,
Forgive me for 2014.
And give me
3 hundred and sixty something
Days
To heal,
Make mistakes,
Grow,
And repeat.

My dad died 3 Julys ago

If I were insane i’d think it were you standing over me.

but, I am simply not crazy enough.

I can feel your breathing though, it is short and inanimate,

like the ones you hear in those scary movies.

You were never in my life, nope.

but I can still hear, I can still feel your breathing though.

I wake up angry, every time!

it’s 3 a.m and you are here, but never here…bothering me

I say out loud “Daddy, would you let me sleep?”

ugh, you invade my brain like you are a dictator taking over a Country.

You are never there, not once…when I was looking.

but here you are, I can hear you, in my room- breathing.

You died, but I hear you…you’re still breathing.

Why, why must you leave me twice? Don’t you care about me?

But I am no victim, just moody because I am sleepy.

Dad, I still call you that because you did help create me.

You were so mean too, I remember you always yelling at me!

But now, you say nothing

just breaths late in the night, to remind me

that you, are gone and I can only see you in my dreams, or when I am awake

and the rest of the world is sleeping.

Guess you can’t rest in peace either.

Writing:

Can be so painful sometimes.

Especially when life takes your voice away. Writing a poem no longer feels like a skill or a hobby, it becomes a task. A life or death situation that no one can save you from but yourself, words just drift around your head space; tortuous banner, taking away any ability to relieve your stress.

I imagine that is what writers block feels for you as well?

Every once in a while I stare at my blog post drafts and sigh, what the hell is drying up my creative juices these days?

Oh well. I read somewhere that “If you can’t be a poet, be the poem.” So I will continue to live my life until a movement moves and then soothes me.

Body

I’m moving all the way down,
Downtown.
Motions and emotions
Toxic potion,
You tell me to keep going,
But I stop right…there.
Have I ever told you that your body
Is beautiful?
And not just any beautiful, more like
The kind that lingers long after one closes their eyes.
Art, changing a non-believer;
Perfect specimen, sexual healer.
You go to hide away,
I pull your hand away,
Baby, I know you…
Lol, shy.
I love that body like it owns me,
From each curve of your legs, to the sounds your mouth makes,
No dusk nor day break
Can keep you from my head space.

I just wanted to remind you…