Today, right now, I should feel exhilarated, content happy or jubilant, but I really don’t. I mean life is going pretty good for being an ultimately chaotic system; I have a boyfriend and friends and looking in from the outside I think that no one would see the cracks and seams that riddle the foundation. Especially the recently completed creation of adding a boyfriend to my life. At the beginning of the relationship there were so many possibilities so many paths that we could take that all seemed end in old age and eternal love. Now only four weeks later of officially dating I feel all the opportunities closing faster than I can realize them. I don’t talk well or maybe I don’t think I talk well and therefore might be creating the problem. Either way, I find it hard to connect with him on a level that would make our bond a little deeper than the superficial place it is now. I feel that when I talk about something he used to try to be interested and now he looks off into space barely. Maybe I exaggerating, maybe he is paying attention but I don’t feel the compassion anymore. I don’t feel the want that he had at the beginning to get to know me; every single particle. Now he just wants me for one simple thing that occupies the mind of all 18 year old males and I am not willing to go all the way but I have appeased him with other lesser things. And that is exactly what I have done: APPEASED him. I mean that it wasn’t like I didn’t particularly mind what we were (are) doing but after I feel violated and used. Like a rag to be thrown away with little ceremony. I shouldn’t feel that way. I am too important to ever feel that way. No one will care about me the way I care about me because people always put themselves first in the end. No one will save me from the burning building but myself and I must be strong enough to pull away and do that. There is no one more special or precious than me to myself. I am priceless, valuable, and worthwhile. I will not lower myself anymore to someone else’s standards. I will not become someone else for other people instead I will become more of myself and scare away all the people I have collected as friends when they see my real colors. But I don’t care. I am tired of pretending and holding back. I am tired of trying to cater to other people’s need because they won’t be there for me when I need them most. I am alone in this world. Totally alone in a world full of more than five billion people and I can’t believe that someone will save me because hope is a weakness I can’t afford to have. No one will really love me but me.

I am done with playing second fiddle to Matt in our relationship. He will realize my worth or he will lose me. Maybe I won’t make it without his arms protecting me like they have for the four past short weeks. He is my kind of drug and stopping cold turkey will be torture. But look on the bright side, I might lose weight cause I’ll have an excuse not to eat and I’ll have more time to exercise. Or I might just gain twenty pounds because I have an excuse to eat and then I’ll kill myself. It could go either way really.

I just want him to love me. I just want to know that he loves me. Like really truly. Meaning it is so far away from saying it you don’t even know. God it aches to love someone but have a fundamental problem that clashes with their baggage. I want him. I want to be with him. But can I and not be

Unhappy?

The winter day glows bright with hope,
And peace can be seen in a small patch of space
That beautiful being
Curled tightly in a ball
The sun shining through the window
And splaying its rays 
in just that one spot

The little creature covered in sun
Its breath silent and placid
Warming itself again today

A picture of sunlight and a little dog.
That is peace. 

yomi_chan305

slowdead

kayjayloves

kayjayloves

Sincerely,
kelpie11

Born into insanity,
My soul lists to the side of self-destruction,
The cool water calls,
I can feel its tug such as the ocean feels the moon.

It echoes,
There is no place where I can not hear its whisper,
The silent endless whisper that pulls
Pulls me away from life and into its cool depths
Then I wake, not knowing dream from reality 
I push away
Trying to find the surface 
Yet the water is slippery
Molecule to molecule it fits
perfectly against my skin
And I know
that in the end i will go

I hear its rush loud against my ears
It pounds out rythyms below me
Twirls and spins in infinitely complex designs.

One step,
All I must do to make the phantoms go away is one 
Small movement.

In the end I must join with what calls me
Nothing holds me back
Why not now?

A deep breath, 
My last.

Rushing through the air
I hear the splash but do not feel it

There is no more tug 
And like the ocean must do,
I finally went to what called me.

Sometimes there is no way to stop the tears from coming.

As you rush through the halls away from the pain that ripped open a huge hole where your heart should have been the tears poured out. What was the point in trusting people anymore? Betrayal was sure to come eventually if not immediately even if it was ‘unintentional’. The pain got worse; it hurt even more that he didn’t mean to sleep around, that he didn’t even think of you when he was doing it. And to think you were just about to allow him the unthinkable. Why trust? It was pointless, a waste of effort and resources. You ran down the steps so haphazardly that you hit your hip on the rail. Just one of so many others, but at least that one would go away. A wrenching sob escaped your lips because you knew there was no one to turn to; there was no one to care if you left.

The pain gets worse and worse. It hurts to breath, to think, and every effort draws too much energy from your body. You look up just long enough to miss hitting your head on the bottom of the playground fort. This is good, you think, it doesn’t matter anyways because you can’t run any farther.

Slowly, the sobs stop. The pain is still there but at least you can think about your situation for a moment. Who would miss you? Not you foster parents, they could use the extra money of you being gone. You don’t have any friends that wouldn’t stab you in the back at a moment’s notice. You have no…well you won’t think about that. There isn’t anyone on the face of the planet who would care if you just disappeared.

Next question: How to go? Pills too messy, drowning too scary (you’ve never been very brave), jumping…hmmmm….how would you get on a high enough building? You decided that was too technical. Oh wait! Jumping…in front of a car! That was it.  Just a second of pain, could be called an accident; it was perfect. Just perfect.

You started walking (too tired to run anywhere and you had to think anyways...) toward the highway since that was the best place with the fastest and largest number of cars. Thinking was too hard at the moment; too painful. Your hands clenched into fists, then unclenched, then clenched again. Fear was creeping into your mind but you forced it down, no time for emotions either.

Staring down at the cars rushing by, you began to have second thoughts. What if it was painful? What if someone did care about you? But then again did you want to live in a world where you would die anyways. You were already suffering: not eating lunch to save money and stuff like that. Would god care if you came a little early to heaven’s gates? You laughed out loud. It was a sad desperate sound. There was no god. A god wouldn’t take you parents away from you.

You took a deep breath. A heaving more like, to keep yourself from crying. Goodbye world. Goodbye isolation. You grinned. Goodbye god. Then, without thinking, you climbed up on the edge of the bridge and pushed yourself off into the sea of roaring waves.

The first car hit you at what you guessed was eighty five miles an hour. A good pace for a highway you though absent-mindedly. Then the first wave of pain hit. This was so much worse than the invisible bruises. Suddenly the second car hit and it was like the first except it hurt more because you were already in pain. You felt light headed, like you were floating instead of pressing against the cold hard pavement. It hurt, or at least you though it should hurt since it had hurt a while ago.

It was kind of nice lying here, in the warm summer breeze with the sun shining on your face and a comfy bed of grass under you. Then you saw a really big tree moving toward you. First of all, why was a tree moving? Shouldn’t they stay in place? Your leg started to hurt but you couldn’t move, it felt like you were glued to the pavement. Wait, the pavement? You thought…And then tree hit you at about eighty miles an hour, and the last thing that came to you mind was you would have gone faster on a highway that was so big.

The tears rain down

But there’s blood on the floor

Thick and red, it pools into something resembling a sea

Surrounding the bare patches like islands

And then the islands are gone and its an endless sea of red

Resurrection has been a long time coming

But it is here this day

It is the blood

There aren’t any tears

Death is so near

Silence is so close and

Even through the pain

The tired rip and tear

Of skin and muscle

I can hear it

Like a lonely foghorn on the sea

A sea of tears that look like blood.

The cold unforgiving truth bears down on my soul; I give under the constant weight. No matter how much I try to run away the facts are shoved in my face. I don't how to love. Or what love is for that matter. I walk down any street here, and there has to be at least one couple enjoying each other’s company. The beauty of that raw love hurts me; I have to turn away and scuffle on past. Me, I’m alone. Single in Paris is surprisingly easy to be. Yet there isn't anything more painful. 

Today, of all days, the sky decided to weep at the very moment I was too far to go back for an umbrella. In a few a minutes I was soaked and therefore decided to walk because I couldn't get anymore wet. Turning onto the street across from the Eiffel tower I made my way through the thinning crowd to the bus stop where one other unlucky soul stood waiting. Together we stood shifting from foot to foot in a meek attempt to stay warm. When the bus finally came I got on first and sat two rows behind the driver and stared out at the dreary streets of the still somewhat magical town. When I reached   le clinique vétérinaire the lights weren't even on. I sighed, knowing that, I would have to open shop again. The day was long and no interesting cases came in, only a few spays and neuters.

It wasn't raining when I said goodbye to my fellow veterinaries, but the sky was threatening a down pour. As I walked down the nearly empty streets the gutter caught my eye. It was full of water garbage, but mainly leaves. Each leaf was a boat fighting the heavy currents and obstacles to stay afloat. I followed one of these brave crafts until it was almost out of sight, but then at the last second it sank and I breathed out...

Suddenly, I was on the ground only aware of the wet seeping into my pants and the person who had knocked me down. His hair covered almost all of his face and when he reached out to give me a hand it was swept away to reveal the most beautiful features I had ever seen. And also features that I knew all too well. I jumped up, with the help of his mitten hand, and started to gather his packages which had become wet and soggy. 

"So how do you like Paris, Marc?" I said rather loudly. He looked at me as if I had just him the color of his underpants, but all too soon his face changed from bewilderment to astonishment.

"Kat?" he said, with just the slightest suspicion

"In the flesh," I was so happy to have finally found one person who I actually knew in this strange city.

"Oh my God! I thought you went to Belgium not France?" he asked in an odd voice

"I decided that I couldn't make enough money in that tiny country."

"It's so good to see you Kat," and with that he hugged the stuffing out of me, causing the already destroyed packages to fall once again onto the wet pavement.

"Its goo to see you too," I mumbled into his shirt. We pulled away after a moment, still holding both of the other's hands, and just stared. I don't know what he felt, but I felt the strong light headed urge to throw up.

“Why don't you come over to my house and we can catch up on the past couple years," he said I very nearly said no, but the burden of loneliness was just too strong tonight. 

So, in the end, I replied, “I’d love to! If you feed me.' He laughed at this said of course and, after collecting the packages, I followed him to his home.

What he didn't tell me was that his home was two miles away. So we trudged through the damp, cold and getting colder streets of Paris talking about our days as vet students.

"Remember the time when we finished last and had to buy Mr. Tithe man pizza?"

"That was every time we had a big lab. Remember when Sam streaked across the auditorium?'

"Ha! yeah but then he got kicked out."

"But went on to become a lower, and anyways he wouldn't have made a good vet."

Finally, we reached his house, soaked, because it had started raining again, and I realized that compared to most people, I was pretty well off.  His house was small and there was paint peeling everywhere but it seemed that it was down and I guess that was all that mattered. 

I stood in the hallway as he put the packages down and looked about me. The walls were covered in pictures of vet school and times after graduation. I hadn't realized how lonely I was until entering that hall. How empty my life was, or how much my "problem" inhibited me.

"You can take your shoes off, you know. And your coat. And walk more than two feet into house." he said

"Oh yeah" I mumbled as I began to do what he suggested. I was soaked to the core so he let me borrow his clothes, which was nice. And then he led me into the kitchen where to hot cocoas awaited us, which was even nicer. Over the steaming drinks we talked about everything and anything under the sun. We started with vet school and just went from there. A while later, I yawned into eh middle of speaking for so long that forgot what I was saying.

"Its getting pretty late," he said

"yeah I guess I should be going home"

"You don't have to go, I mean it’s too far too walk and I have a guest room with the bed all made up." My heart fluttered, for some reason, I silently told it to stop or I would clip its wings.

"Oh, I don't know..."

He interrupted me with, “you have to! I don't you getting a cold." that seemed to have settled it, so I slowly followed him up the stairs and collapsed on the guest bed, falling immediately into a deep slumber. I had no dreams that night, nothing to suggest what was really on my mind. 

When I woke up the smell of pancakes was wafting up to from downstairs. Like metal to a magnet, I got up and hungrily followed the smell. He was there, in sweats and a t looking more attractive than anything I had seen for a while, including the pancakes.

"How did you sleep?" he said in a hoarse morning voice.

"Just fine, how about you?"

"Slept like an angel, but decided to wake up early enough to make pancakes," he smiled and turned around, back to the consuming duty of making pancakes. I sat and wondered how to start a conversation with him without sounding as if my personality was equivalent to a blank wall. I was at a loss, so, I got up and looked in his fridge for some milk to go along with the yummy smelling pancakes.

"The milk is already out," he said in a throaty voice next to my ear, “I was using it for my creations." My breath caught as I slowly turned around to find him but mere inches from. How I wanted to kiss him, hold him and never let him go. Our faces were so close I smell his delightfully pungent morning breath. And then he was gone, pulled back and distant. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't think," he mumbled in an embarrassed voice.

All I could think of to say was, "You did nothing wrong, unless those feelings you just conveyed are untrue."

"Well, it’s just...

Homophobia and You (author unknown) I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian. I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman. I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights. We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time. I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room. I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me. I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again. I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear. We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men. I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me. I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman. I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman. I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male. I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men. I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that. I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual. I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me. I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind. I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love. I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male. RE-POST THIS IF YOU BELIEVE HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG. PLEASE DO YOUR PART TO END IT.

Each day has been a challenge, each sibling a burden. After Jennifer was born I knew that I couldn’t take it. Being the oldest was so hard and I regularly shirked the duties it came with. I stayed out late, took drugs, drank but nothing helped much in avoiding the inevitable coming home to the dirty house, and an empty life. The younger ones thought I was a second mom. I hated it. Every time they called me “Mom!” I died. I hated my siblings not for their character, which left a little to be desired, but because they existed. Because they were. So I started planning my escape. This escape. My mom, Rosa, would know why because she would have done the same thing long ago if it hadn’t been for us; whining and moaning and eating and breathing.

I promised Lemon that when he left I would follow his footsteps. Lemon is, was, my boyfriend whom my family never knew about and who had died two years before. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. Instead I cleaned dishes, did laundry, and entertained my siblings so mom could have a day off. That was when I knew I must follow him. He had been my soul and I his. We had explored the meaning of love and talked to each other until it hurt to speak.  Nothing could separate us until that fateful day two years ago. I had waited and waited for him to come and he never did. I waited there for the whole night and part of the next day. Still he never came. So I walked around the city, not wanting to go back to my house but too anxious to stay there, waiting, any longer. I learned he was dead while walking by a TV store. Each TV was turned to a news station that kept repeating his brief story over and over again.  “Important Businessman’s Son Found Shot Dead in Alleyway,” with a picture of his beautiful grinning face being shown every once and awhile. His parents were on one of them, mother crying and father holding her tightly as if to deaden the noise. Dead. Lemon was dead.  My heart couldn’t take it. It ached inside my chest and then it broke. I knew I ran from the TV store but I don’t remember anything after that until a day later.

 With him gone I fell into a depression, a foggy haze that swirled around me, and that was how I had survived. But like the sun takes away the fog, my depression disappeared with time and the pain returned. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, but my mom was too busy or too tired to notice and no one else cared. That is why I stand upon the tallest building on the street, preparing to fall.

I wouldn’t be missed or stopped. No one would say, “Angel, No!” There was nobody to care about us Vargas’; we were too many, too much. I had picked the highest building on the street to fall from. To fall down and down to the dirt below wouldn’t be so hard; just an instant of pain. A better way to go than drugs, better than shooting yourself, really it was the best way. The wind kissed my cheeks with icy cold lips and spun my moonlight white dress this way and that. I held back the tears, knowing, what I was doing was right. No one looked up when I finally just stepped off the edge into the air.

Falling was the best feeling, it was like flying, and I never wanted it to end. But now I lie here. I don’t remember landing, I can’t feel the pain. The ground below me is hard and immediate yet suddenly it doesn’t matter because I’m standing and holding my hand is Lemon. He pulls me along, smiling, not saying a word. I go with him, feeling happy once more.