Forgiving the Unapologetic

hesitation is non-existent
when they opt to throw their flames
billowing smoke chokes
mask wearers consist only of unapologetic arsonists

i am the rest
the unprotected
disrespected

they aim to break me;
try to burn down the chapel of my soul

my wooden structure crumbles
their hatred settled into my remains
suddenly i’m bitter

bearing overwhelming grudges
i became unapologetic to the unapologetic
angry
fires starting
flames were growing
ready to be thrown at those
who burnt down parts of me
i had only just restored

forgiving is rebuilding
it is growing
hearing the melody of music
the thunder in words i had yet to see the magnitude of
ideas i could not grasp

pray to your god
your goddess

ask for clear vision
fall to your knees and beg
for a remedy
to mend your hurting heart

pray for flames to settle
for you to rise
from burnt down
broken

plant your seeds once again
let sweet flora take over

i hope you pray
find your quiet
rest your soul

my charred existence is no longer

swept away slowly by sweet wind
crisp and refreshing
clearing the ashes
freeing my forgiving heart
from the fires wreckage

forgiving the unapologetic
is growing up
learning demons
are not hiding beneath our beds
instead they reside in our heads

forgiving the unapologetic
is learning gods and goddesses
are not physical
they reside inside of us
my goddess is forgiving
and my goddess is free

so i’ll be forgiving
forgiving myself
forgiving the unapologetic

Abyss

Memories, they escape me faster than the blink of an eye,

Your words in and out of my brain faster than your tongue moves, quicker than your lips.

I never meant to be so forgetful

Part of me believes it was the pills,

Or the booze,

Or perhaps something bad that my mind wants to forget

I may never know,

But not knowing doesn’t make me remember,

Never whispers in my ear the secrets you asked me to keep,

Not once did my memory remind me of times I have since forgotten,

Like my first eleven years.

Few memories exist of simpler times,

Mostly captured in photographs,

Or possibly created by my imagination,

The part of me that wants to put a story on the blank pages of my life's book.

I may never know

Why you left, why you came back, why you left again.

And maybe I don’t want to, but something inside of me shouts and cries because I just can’t remember what I did wrong,

And what I did right.

I am broken, shattered by knowing I may never recall my last words to you. Or your last to me.

Because you are gone, I will never hear your voice again,

A voice that I have since lost.

My memories, or lack thereof,

Have made relationships seem meaningless

Piecing together memories, I may never know the truth.

I find myself searching, like a lost explorer, trying to find my way home,

Reaching a single metre from the cliff, though never jumping,

And a single step away from my destination

Before turning back.

The little sight I have of the past is clouded,

Seems fabricated,

Like I never really knew what the truth is

I forget menial things,

Passcodes,

What I ate for dinner on Monday,

If I still have the dress I may have donated to charity,

But that is not all.

I try, but I can’t remember details about my best friend that I’ve known since birth,

I can’t remember my mum getting sick, or when exactly my dad moved in

Words said out of love, or hate, or jealousy, or praise: Gone.

Like a person with amnesia, details are gone,

I no longer know why I am who I am.

Can’t recall what shaped me,

Or who.

I can’t recall bad times,

Or good. I lose feelings so quickly that I wonder if I ever felt them in the first place,

Days, words, people, experiences are lost, they blend together, like the grains of sand on the beach, like the waves.

Sometimes I wonder if my life is an ocean.

An endless abyss, a chasm filled with days, filled pages of my story that have been tossed carelessly into the water

Thunder Thighs

I am fat.              
Though you may feel the need to remind me,
Be confident in the fact that I know.

Also know that all of my lovers knew as well,
If you have eyes, or hands that can wrap around me,
It is pretty plain to see.

When you call me fat,
I’ll try not to take offence to it, but,
please don’t take offence to me pretending it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it said.
Like oooooh! Sick burn! Let me apply cold water to that.

Your negativity will never coincide with how I see me.
Nor will it change anything,
Just like me calling you a twit will not change you into someone with a brain.

I may be fat,
but that does not make me any less glorious,
any less sexy,
any less human than you.

In fact, it gives me more empathy,
teaches me that looks don’t matter,
and motivates me to treat people with respect,
More respect than many choose to give me.
All because I am fat.

Being fat has never stopped me from
Being a good person
a daughter,
a sister,
a lover,
or a friend.

It should not hinder me from finding a lover,
that smart girl, kind, and gentle,
or the sweet neighbor man who always asks how I’ve been.

For years I was insecure,
Didn’t want to look at myself in a mirror,
I abused myself.
Wished I could change every part of me.
Wanting prominent collarbones,
a sleeker shadow,
Seeking larger breasts, smaller thighs, a bigger nose, and bluer eyes,

But you see,
I am fat.
Getting older makes you realise,
Fat or not,
The only person who can hold you up,
Is yourself

Options

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

Tears gliding down my face, I open the door to see two policemen;
They say come with us,
There are no options here.

To the hospital we go,
Me, shamefully revealing myself to the nurse,

Hmmm, attempted overdose, they say, come with us,
There are no options here.

Hooked up to monitors that buzz and beep,
I lay silently in the bed, thinking of that which I did wrong.

Drink this charcoal, the nurse says,
There are no options here.

You won’t have to speak to anyone, he says.
Contradicted hours later, I weep.
There are no options here.

I wait all night to see a doctor, a doctor of my own.
Psychiatrist says I can go home.. Though I am not okay to be on my own.
Bawling my eyes out I tell the truth,

Psychiatrist says I must go downstairs,
There are no options here.

To the acute psychiatric unit, I go alone.
Frantic, I beg for rights, I beg for normalcy,
Some normalcy granted. Not enough.

I pray thanks to a God though I'm not sure which one, while holding spite, for I know,
There are no options here.

I cry all night long, 

Meet people the next day.
Meds change, meds change, meds change
There are no options here.

I feel drugged, but when I don’t, I wish not to live,
There are no options here.

Finally stable, I am near expulsion,
I have to once again face the real world,
I’ve got to go about it on my own.
There are no options here. 

Excess

It's so easy to come back to you,
So easy to come back to you,
Don't look at me now,
You won't see this as weeks go by,

L-L-Let me cry, throat burning, body thinning,
Or so I think.
It's so easy to come back to you

Make me fleshless, I don't like the skin I'm in
Delicate, fragile, make me skin and bones,

Bulging body stares at me through the mirror.
Let me waste away the excess;
Let me look like the rest.
Burn away my impurities
Scare away my weight,
Make me featherlight,

Oh but it'll win,
Consume me,
So easy to come back to you.
So easy to come back to you.
So easy, I keep falling,  I keep falling back to you.

But I'll stay silent until that point,
Ruin and add tragedy to my own life,
Praying no one else get's hit with it

Let myself fade away quickly,
So as to not be saved from myself.
It's so easy to come back to you,
So easy to come back to you,

Silence

I’m scared, terrified, shaking,
Knowing that my emotional words may not be appreciated,
Or reciprocated
Instead invalidated or investigated.

It scares me to speak.
Words flowing out of my shaking fingertips,
I feel the need to vomit.

My heart up for scrutiny,
Intentions to be judged,
By someone who is no longer a resident,
But instead a tourist to my heart.

Perhaps a year of silence is enough,
Unlikely to get us anywhere.
There were none like us.
Nor will there ever be.

I wonder where I lie in your mind,
In a prison, locked away, preferred to be not thought of,
Or in the clouds, where you would look when you need light.

In mine, you show in dreams, perhaps naïve,
My subconscious misses you.
I realise sometimes that I do too.

You lie  in the field of people who no longer trust you,
But I have forgiven, despite sadness and regret.
I wish to move on, move past, rise above.

The Child

 Cold,
Hungry,
Filthy,
Different,

All have different challenges,
Ones we must meet head on,
Fighting for fairness and equality.

The child,
Deserves more than they are equipped with,
Deserves to learn, for that is why they are here.

The teacher,
Must fight for the child,
Must be the light for the child,
Must do right to the child

The teacher in training,
Learns about the child,
Learns how to deal with the wild,

We are all learning.

We learn how to embrace special,
Learn how to be servants,
Clothe the child, feed the child, understand the child,
And then teach the child.

We are the levelers,
Leveling the field,
So that the child can learn.