Therapy
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Never to bed, early to rise
Adds to the rings beneath my eye
The gray and purple, these colors shine through
You'd call them your favorites if you had them too
No rest for the wicked's what I always said
Oh my sweet boy
You who were once my morningstar
Far away and too far gone
Lost amidst the endless sea
Drowning you with each crushing wave
We meet once a week.
I tell you my thought and fears.
You sneak a peak
At what's been going on all these years.
You lead me down a path of discovery.
You know how painful it can be.
I have listened to your song on repeat
Over and over again in the dark
Different styles and different artists
But still your song
I have listened to every note, every lyric
And I realize only now
I caved and seen a counselor today. I impatiently waited in the office, picking at my skin, filling out monotonous paperwork, checking the yeses and the noes, and more anxious waiting.
I am your burden
The God you called out to that did not answer
They failed me for the final time
I came begging on my knees
Skin torn and bleeding
Having walked thousands and thousand of miles
Maybe speaking was a mistake
Maybe trusting you with my secrets wasn't a good idea
I forgot how much power my words hold
They have the ability to save or destroy my life
Rubbing her thumb across her bicep… up and down and up and down
Thinking of life before, what life even was—
What was a life if it meant nothing?
I was intoxicating wasn't I?
I had such a combustible presence in your midst you couldn't handle any missteps
When I gave you a subtle kiss when I told you I could've loved you
How is college?
She asks, I laugh
I quit
Her eyebrows
Drawn together, concerned
Are you eating?
I sip my black coffee
Chew my lip
The skin of which
Sit me down on a couch covered in plush cushions
Ask me my name
Ask me my age
Ask me why im here
Remember how when you were little you would scrape your knee
How you would run to mommy crying
How she would kiss your “boo-boo,” put a bandaid on it and it would be all better?
I wish you would just hit me
But you got inside my bones
and split me from the inside.
I hate that I’m that girl
who writes poetry about a boy
to feel human again.
But you’re not a boy,
Lost. Scared. I didn't dare.
Helped. Hopeful. Light as air.
Now. Forward. To somewhere.
*INHALE*
I sit in plush chairs and anxiety.
The room is filled with inspirational posters and I can smell the last persons cigarette cough.
I do not want to be here.
Sweep to the center of the room,
My brain, the state I live in,
All the junk; collect it in a pile,
And sweep it out the front door.
Waiting.
Waiting for a sign,
Broken, damaged, lost,
Crying for help,
Screaming into the void,
‘Help me, please, someone help me.’
Our world, separated by darkness and light,
Roughly advances, more difficult to fight;
People will struggle in order to thrive,
Though many just struggle to stay alive;
What did your uncle say? (Or another man-to-man…):
When you become a man,
You’ll understand life more than a boy can,
Don’t live in the past or you’ll get left behind,
Life is what you make it, except make it rewind,
How are you doing?I guess I'm okayNo, you're notI'm not okayYou're still aliveI guess I amYou're still in painOf course I am
Lying awake at night, I start to wonder how to make it right
My thoughts take me to a place
A place I do not want to be
A place where cruel faces mock me
It is two am- the limbo between morning and night-
and I have to be up in 5 hours max.
Can't sleep.
All I can think about is time travel
'cause I just watched a movie where they played with time
My oh my, what is this deadly sensation?
A sickening feeling, oh how I detest it.
Like a chemical reaction, I feel the explosion
Of a million thoughts, the mind's at the limit.
“It gets better”
A phrase i heard a lot
From people who didn’t know what else to say
Or who haven’t the experience for advice.
A phrase that felt like an excuse
How to thank someone to whom I owe everything? The silent struggle with this new stranger unable to trust my heart crying, “danger”. The silence stretched in a power struggle while I stared at the wall not moving a muscle.
Black Birds
As she flicked the rubber against her wrist
her eyes linger into nature’s abyss
undressing the land with her eyes
I was raised to keep my issues bottled
I live with a family where communication is a problem
Introverted pacifist, avoiding all confrontation
When I try to speak, I stutter, failing all articulation
It’s nice to feel listened to
It’s nice to feel you’re heard.
And with the art of poetry,
My paper hears every word.
This art of mine, uses lines
To illuminate emotions.
Eyes that fall upon me- Their weight pushing me to the ground
Eyes becoming steely hands, now tightening their grip around my neck.
Stolen breath, I can't make a sound. I'm here for my appointment; yet, nowhere am I found.
Dear Mother,
Hello, I just wanted to say you aren't a mother.
I mean a mother couldnt do what you did to me could she?
You left me in the streets so you can get high.
"Suicide is not an option"
I hear my therapist say,
She smiles wryly
And I want to scream.
"Suicide is a coward's way out"
She continues,
I do not understand
She thinks this is a fact?
Frost invites my fingertips; it beckons my graspEach flake kisses my lids, and paints my lashes to frostMy palms are graced by the snow, a bliss without costI lift my lids, while each step is answered by the snow’s raspEach eye of ebon sueded is
"Counselor" by Zarinah Alarcon
I’m that girl that sits up
late at night with thoughts
constantly running through my head.
Building up fire and ragethe past few daysfelt like a dragon trappedin a too small cagein and out of realityI phasewith an acquired tastefor doing dopetill im damn near comatose
All the noise in my headseems like only a few pills will stop it deadthey`ll kill that shitbut send me right back to the skidswhere your clothes, shoes and skin dont fit
Old soul
Young bones
Turmoil and pure insanity-
This time last year I was really feeling the shit hit the fan, man
And I mean, really
"And how would you describe the pain?",she asked me
Her kind voice holding an edge of caution
Like she was afraid of me
Like somehow my mental pain is something contagious
A disease you can catch
january, noah's funeral.
february, this shouldn't have happened.
march, it's all my fault.
april, i should have talked to him more.
may, take a deep breath.
june, i miss him.
A blade seems friendly
It is anything but
A manipulating tool
And in my head it now haunts.
It once kicked away the Numbness
That stalked my daily life
And locked away Anxiety
This is a poem for the unbeliever
The unbeliever’s name is me.
//
You are broken.
Broken heart, broken faith, broken head.
It’s okay to be broken.
You are a keeper of trauma.
Why is it that the more recovered I think I am,
The happier I seem,
The more I smile,
The more open I am...
Why is it that, inside, things might just be getting worse?
It's a trick,
It was what nobody suspect,
And denial begins,
Because how could a girl like me
Who has everything
Fall into this pit of darkness?
Is it really my fault
That I may be depressed?
I give my love my everything:
The nooks and crannies of my soul.
His mask then fell, unveiled a liar,
Spilled every secret: none untold.
Friends come, they go, all while they know
Dear Self,
When you were 6
You yelled and yelled
and your heart felt sad and confused
because that boy embarresed you at school
So Self,
when you were 10
you hit a wall
I am a tsunami.
The water waxes and wanes at my will,
Captivating and crucifying the shoreline.
You are a wildfire.
Endowed with incalculable miles,
Extinguished by the hands of others.
Way back
Way way back
In the darkest of times
In the dark
In the night
Of my mind
In the screams
In the terror
I found a pen
And paper
Wrote down my feelings
About
Just like drugs and alcohol
You pulled me in with a promise
to feel better.
You brought me into a world of feelings
Made me addicted
I'm so hooked it's become mylife.
I do it in the world
It is you with whom I speak, when the pen becomes my voice.When the cell bars of this prison-like mind slide open,you are the haven I seek under the full moon at 3 a.m.
In what I've learned as a human,
Although it's nothing at all,
We all need a therapist who will let us drain it all.
I want to be a therapist,
only that who works with arts.
We are just kids who can't stop the voices of our demons. Too tired from trying to keep ourselves sane, we are out on the edge not caring if we fall, we are heroes
To get and grasp separation of paths is difficult sometimes
how do I accept chaotic intersections that are not mine?
So emotions keep fumbling over, but the top's still on
Day zero: You are in a warm bathtub, and you are drunk.
Your girlfriend just broke up with you.
You are texting your friends that you are worthless,
That you are tired,
I’m happy my counselor is an incompetent piece of shit because it means she doesn’t, ask the real questions, tiptoes over my glass shards and scars hoping not the strum the wrong cord. It’s been a months and we still refer to my eating disorder
Sandy feet, light brown ocean, and a vast open sky. My week before this was stressful, burdensome and I thought I was going to die. It was hour after hour of work. It was draining; tearing at my soul.
when people ask me who I am,
i always give tHem the correct answer.
the filtered Answer:
~i am ambiTious
"i work hard to bE a leader"
~i am honesT
"no lies from tHis gal."
I'm Seventeen.
I talked to my counselor today.
The school won’t let me back to class without a note from a therapist;
Smile.
Smile because you're loved, you're fortunate, you've got no reason to be sad.
Smile because everyone around you passes by without a second glance, a second thought, a second word.
The truest pain is the one you don't initially feel Question, what happened? and was it even real?
My soul bleeds onto the paper with each word released from the pen in my hand.
In a dark room. An empty room. Only me and the voice inside my head—or is it the voice inside my heart?
Let the asystole
Voice the matter at hand
The mind of she who wishes
To broadcast her innermost thoughts
Her suppressed desires
Goals, methods, plans
But fear the shatter
A life full of regret is the wrong attitude
The remorse, the emptiness, the solitude.
Dont crater, don't break
You are made to bend
Just continue to smile, my love to you I send
Have you ever reached out to touch
the heaven in her bones
Have you ever reached out and brushed
the hell that well all know
Her mind bleeds power
and I intend to know it
The therapy didn't put things in perspective and the pills don't make me happy
The pain still hurts and the tears still come
I'm broken inside and I can't find all the pieces
Hey. It's me again.
Twiddling thumbs in your office.
I think, it's clear again,
I cannot shake off all of this.
I recognize this bag of flesh,
It's even been given a name.
We enter this world ready to learn and grow,
Each of us vulnerable to information we do not yet know.
While some are blessed with strong bonds and foundations from the start,
clickclickclickclick
goes the key board as i sip my morning tea.
Spiling, gushing ,spewng my deepest trauma and heatache.
My therapy, your guilty pleasure.
The best job, if you ask me, is that of a writer.
Patient #: Mr./Mrs. Wants-To-Recover
ID #: 02012544...No longer wishes to suffer
Diagnosis: Part of me torn asunder due to one silly little blunder
Physical Therapist: Nathan D. Optimist
I once was
A girl caged in lonliness; living nightmare
The devil on my back
Crawled in my head
Seeing things in different ways,
is giving life a perspective.
You don't have to be blind,
if you can't see them..
Maybe you just couldn't find the right perspective?
Questions last forever,
but lying by answering doesn't...
To hear, if only I could hear. To hear those words so soft and fruitful. To hears suchwords when I am youthful. Time goes by and so does this rhyme, but riddle me this,
I’m not good enough
Comparing myself to others always
Look at the negative side
Thoughts run through my mind as I walked through the hallways
I’m not good enough
Everyone is smarter, more talented, and cool
I push myself beyond all limits, laugh doubters in the face, nothing and no one can keep me from reaching,touching, breathing you. My oath is to pursue you everyday and never tire of being by your side.
If I may only have my hands for companions
And must live my days
On a bed in the darkest hole
Then let me have a pen
Let my eyes grow weary from squinting
Let my fingers cramp
i inhale.
knots.
there are knots in my Chest.
tension runs through my veins,
snApping at each curve.
my bones,
oh, how They scream so loudly!
i will quiver.
seizing limbs,
Alone in a room
a broken girl lays.
Eyes once so brown
now have gone grey.
In the flesh of her arm
is a quote scarred in ink.
It reads, "Don't follow others
if they contrast your beliefs."
I used to be sad.
I used to feel depressed.
I used to think that my life was so much worse than the rest.
OCD and anxiety had control of me.
The frustration was overwhelming,
it was taking over my body.
I could lie down on a small black couch
to fill the air with all my petty cares.
Or keep it bottled up inside
and let smolder,
until my face is lined, grey, and older.
Instead I use a pen, blank paper
I write because I'm inspired by my real life's story. Because from my point of veiw it makes 'regular' seem less boring. Ans at the tip of my pencil's point, trust me theres no graphite.
Art, mind, body, soul. All are connected. Poetry, theatre, dance, sing. All are therapy. With therapy we join. With therapy we live.
I am a writer.
A passion within,
Emotional release starts with paper and a pen.
My heart starts to flutter,
My knees are weak,
Just at the sight of a blank sheet.
How a spirit can feel
What would I do
Without my pen
Where would I turn?
When life comes at me tumultuously
And makes my stomach churn
I refuse to inflict pain,
But I simply want to feel.
I want the hurt to end,
But the pain comes back again.
There are healthy ways to deal,
I know.
But the temptation is so strong.
