WoundAre not the wounds of the mind
As the wounds of the body?
Is sickness any lesser
If suffered mentally
Rather than physically?
All fire burns
All ice chills
All wounds hurt
Just because one does not bleed
Does not mean
One is not wounded
The body can mend
But the mind suffers
Anxiety Attackwe will not last
the seconds seem like hours
everything is flying frantic
moving faster and faster
beyond all real of grasp
and yet only seconds have passed
although my lifetime slips away
waiting for this feeling to pass
it seems like time slows down
a count down for my next attack
if this is what seconds feel like
I cannot endure the hours
as my palms drip with sweat
as if I’d been drowning out to sea
my anchor is my heart
it beats ragged
a seagull trapped in a net
and the black cloud will swallow me
as this storm too shall pass
but I know now
we will not last
Only in SorrowOnly in sorrow do i give up
Only in sorrow my smile starts to fade
Only in sorrow I see the darkness
Only in sorrow I feel the heaviness of my heart
In sorrow i cry myself to sleep
In sorrow I watch these tears fall down
In sorrow I watch my life fade away
In sorrow I leave the memories behind
Only in sorrow do I start to cry
Only in sorrow does my mind fade away
Only in sorrow I don't feel any fear
Only in sorrow does my feelings go away
In sorrow I lie in bed crying
In sorrow I watch my life go away
In sorrow I wish to be happier,
but living in sorrow is the life I always known
Cracking UpI feel the pressure on my soul getting heavy,
and it has begun to affect my mood as well.
There is no place that I can run to right now--
it's as if I'm being dragged back into my Hell.
I feel the tears well up as I collapse down,
my body curling up to ward off the deep pain.
My body quivers as I start to sob pitifully,
the hot salt of my tears falling like rain.
My mind starts shouting horrid and obscene things,
telling me that I would be better off safely dead.
I'm cracking up, breaking for all interested to see...
and yes, I am losing the battle raging in my head.
I feel a pair of arms envelope me tightly, so warm...
and I hear a soothing voice trying to quell my pain.
I fully break open, and the tears flood down my face.
Please God...don't let this be the time I go insane!
For thirty minutes, I weep and purge my wounded soul.
I then calm down...my sanity and my soul fully restored.
I know that this might happen yet again in another time...
for when the pain is too great, it can nev
Through The DarknessIt's five AM, and I did not sleep.
Sitting here in the dark of my room,
I know that I have to go home today...
but dare I leave this safe cocoon?
My time of healing must continue
in another place, and another time.
The four days I spent here helped me
through the darkness that hurt me so.
In a few hours, I will be going home.
But for now, I sip my water and try
to relax my nerves as best as I can...
praying to God that I can make it.
The darkness and morning chill tell me
that I need to be ready to ramble on.
I get up, padding off to the shower--
knowing that I have to face the dawn!
skinny.For the first time in a while,
I didn't stop to weigh myself on my way out of my bathroom;
Rather, I simply stared at my skeletal frame in the large wall mirror and asked
"Why did I eat tonight?".
Not to say I didn't consider it thoroughly-
a full ten-minutes' deliberation concluded that I probably didn't want to know.
I glanced longingly down at the toilet, craving to inch my bony fingers down my throat
just one more time,
but I guess I just don't have the energy anymore.
Besides, the taste of that scorching mix of acid and blood had gotten old all too long ago.
(and the questionings that always followed; I leave the tap on too long for mother's liking)
The shirt that had been just right when I bought it a month ago hung from my shoulders,
hiding evidence that my lungs were still living
as I took another shallow breath.
Maybe in another ten pounds I'll love myself,
but not a moment sooner.
Stop!Stop screaming at me like you do--
your angry words only cause me pain.
Why are you yelling at me, anyway?
I certainly don't deserve this crud!
Stop calling me those words of hate--
then turn around and tell me of love.
I don't need you hurting me like this...
then trying to play on my heartstrings.
Stop using me as a scratching post--
be it spiritual or physical, it hurts.
Your conduct is showing you care not
for me or the love that I have for you.
Stop treating me badly, for if you don't--
I will no longer be here for you, ever.
You have a choice, my dear...make it good,
for the wrong one will cost you dearly!
The hurricaneWaves batter the calm shore with mounting rage.
The mouth, though calm within, mimics a cage.
Wild wind tears the soul with matchless evil.
The piercing sword is wholly medieval.
Eyes that once mirrored endless tender care,
Now are masked with insanity’s tense glare.
The shore can’t escape the storm. It’s futile.
Gaze at the stains that are marked and brutal.
Homes, lives, families are torn asunder by its clawing vengeance.
The beast, that has passed, leaves eternal relics of its presence.
A Letter to the Self-HatedTo my self-hated youth and those who are broken:
Remember your beauty. Remember that even if I were gone, and you were broken, that you would still come up from your cocoon into a glowing butterfly. Remember that even if your hearts' a mess, that hope is gone, that salvation is dim... that there is always someone to hold your hand, someone to care for you. There is always someone who feels for you... even if you feel you have no one.
We always have our inner fears, our inner woes, our inner beliefs. Sometimes we think we are bad, that we are so broken, no one will love us. But the truth is, no matter where you are in life, and in the world... there is always someone who cares, and would love to hold your hand through all of it, even if you struggle more than anyone else in the world.
There is compassion, there is hope, and there is prosperity. There is darkness, there is hatred, there is cruelty. But we must not focus on the aspects that make us so hurt and in pain... instead, we
beautiful, or something1.
i'll never be in magazines
fashion photos, beauty portraits but
i tell myself that beauty is in
the eye of the beholder and i try
to be satisfied. sometimes
i really am happy, sometimes
i really do feel beautiful
but “sometimes” is such a fickle friend—i guess maybe
not one at all
beauty is in
the eye of the beholder
so i try to help others
make them see that i am valuable, that
i do matter. and if enough people believe it then
i'll be convinced too. but when
they walk over my back they
don't notice at all my face in the puddle
keeping their shoes clean from the mud
—sometimes the dirt
still clogs up my lungs
when will I just
beauty is in
the eye of the beholder
so i do what i've always hated:
start to read fashion magazines
surf the web for beauty tips
and realize that prettiness
comes from makeup, from clothing
and when i'm not hating the models' beauty
i'm stripping my own skin of meaning
so it can be just as clear as theirs
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
A Light ManifestoThis was written a few years ago in a comparative literature class. I had to read it in from of my mates, and was terrified. Though in the end I had a mini sense of enlightenment. I got to tell a bit of my story, and I wasn't ashamed like I thought I would be. I hope reading this will help others put part of their life into perspective focusing on some things that made them who they are
I believe in the power of friendship – I grew up an outsider in my own body. Mom and Dad sheltered me too much. Though, the neighborhood kids would surely pick on me if they didn’t. What are you? They would ask, as if I knew the answer at 8 years old. I knew I was different; odd, shy; weird. Being yourself, being different, that must be what life is all about when you are young? I was naïve. The rocks were thrown; I was pushed and tripped; names were called; I sat alone
Just RightThey called me The White Whale.
I dreamed of carving off my blubber,
perhaps learning to breathe
for minutes at a time
so I could sing,
because whales are elusive.
The ocean is vast. I could have lived
without another pinch, another poke, another
he only loves you for your tits. Get a tan,
go for a jog, are you gonna eat
Their harpoons were steady.
They had no remorse, a close friend told me,
"I just want you to be healthy." She braided my hair,
complimented the color, my eyes a drizzle,
said there was a mermaid
hiding in my shape,
I started smoking the next day.
I used to pace from the cabinet
to the basement with armfuls of confections,
I hid behind our yellow shed and guzzled
black coffee, nicotine, green tea, THC,
with giddiness turned vibrant,
all colors shook,
the first person to notice
said he didn't know I could look so good.
I found my cheekbones, polished my scales,
glittered and flitted and flirted and swam
in schools of gaping grou
HavenMy fingers dance across the keys,
The only thing that brings me peace,
When Anxiety decides to consume my mind.
Lost to a world that It designs.
Sounds of dancing figurines.
Clouds of those with peaceful dreams
Rhythmic motions guide my heart
And Anxiety hides inside my scars.
The only time I feel insane
Is when Anxiety slips away
And I see myself through the sounds
Of music swirling all around.
I sway and savor the noise I make,
Another world that I create.
Sounds of lovely scenery
Pictured lullabies sung just for me.
This is my haven that I’ve found
Some not as lucky to know this sound,
Not of music, but freedom from the chains
That Anxiety wrapped around our brains.
And if you feel Anxiety’s hue,
I pray you’ll find your haven too.
I'm Jaimie, but my friends in "real life" and online call me Jade. |
I'm a Ph.D. Candidate in Public Health. That takes a lot of my time, but in my free time I enjoy creating art and spending time with friends and family. My best friend is a golden retriever; my two-legged best friend is amazing, too.
When I can find the time, I enjoy photomanipulation and dabble in painting with acrylics.
My favorite styles of photomanipulation are fantasy and emotional, but I love all art that is done creatively and with heart.
My personal favorites are the color red and anything Halloween-related.
Proud to be an