It's Not O.K.
By Hannah Marie
It’s not ok.
This…
This is what people would need to know
To understand my pain.
Pain. Pain that caused…
Insanity- that kept me from moving on.
My life, my ordeals, my joys that were also pains,
My heartache,
My despair,
My Sadness. Overwhelming… a constant penetration at my soul.
Your heartache-
YOUR despair that cut me, stung me, and made me hurt more.
Creating a whirlwind of ugly.
My once so picturesque life now splattered…
With the blood of self inflicted wounds
Running, dripping 'round my wrist
A permanent reminder of
Anguish. Now there are scars, piercing the once porcelain delicate skin.
Loss of hope… Complete fear engulfed me.
Fear that was overcome by a NEED to adjust. It callused over.
Making me hard.
Mean.
Losing innocence so I could protect myself from things others,
Others should…
Should have protected me from.
Promised they would protect me from.
Next, A romance no one understood.
Beating me up from the inside out
Like an eerie storm corrupting and destroying everything!
EVERYTHING!
Everything in my path,
The things I held most dear-
I clasped my hands around them trying to keep them from falling
But they slipped.
And I always watched them slip…
Continually even to this day I watch them slip!
They torpedo down to an end that only the blind can see
It is a never ending nightmare.
A nightmare created by a fairytale that I thought-
THOUGHT I had.
A fairytale that took a wicked twist…
A sick, wrong… tormenting twist.
Where drugs… and ego were the knight in shining armor’s only desire.
Not his damsel in distress.
Who waited.
WAITED!
Day after day after day in dragging agony. In distress.
Distress.
She waited for him.
Everyone told her to stop but she had faith in him.
She built a life with her thoughts…
Her home was a castle… adorned with the peace she could never find.
Her prince and her would be there in the castle forever.
She became enchanted… hypnotized, and obsessed by the impossible.
She waited for her dream to come true. Her impossible dream.
Waiting became fruitless.
She conceived new ideas to fix her perfect…
But not so perfect
Intoxicating fantasy.
And upon impulsive acts…..
Acts that were forbidden but seemingly her only hope,
She created with him.
Together they created a child to whom he wanted nothing
NOTHING
But to use the child as a trophy.
Though he was NEVER a trophy in his mothers eyes.
Her eyes…
Those eyes that saw others in lights they could not themselves
LIGHT
She saw.
She saw in all.
Always giving too much compassion.
Too much LOVE
LOVE. She gave it and gave it.
But love was never enough.
Except to save the one thing left that she could value.
Her son.
I let him go.
And it hurt.
It hurts…
It is ever going.
It is not an event…but a process.
A process where a flawed daughter
Cannot make amends.
She cannot fix it.
She cannot patch others
AND THEIR HURT…
It’s agonizing to watch ur mistakes unraveling
Unraveling like a soiled rug all over everyones perfect little lives….
Leaving marks… traces, EVERYWHERE you go.
So she runs.
She runs to…
ANYWHERE?
Anywhere.
Because really it doesn’t matter does it?
She finds herself in a new world.
A world that does not allow fear.
All it will accept is lies.
LIES and wrong ideas.
Wrong choices to survive.
She will give her heart to anyone.
HER precious… heart.
Her body to anyone.
All she asked in return was to be loved?
Because doesn’t everyone need that?
She did it for love.
For the love she could so easily give but could never receive…
Where was grace?
Wasn’t she taught that it was enough?
That grace was sufficient to make up for those things she lacked…?
Her lessons of religion-
Of God…
Of a Savior.
She now felt anger towards.
She felt alone.
SO ALONE.
I am alone.
Fault.
Who was there to blame the fault on?
Was it her?
Was it her who took the dark and drenched her pretty canvas in black?
Or did she just let it happen?
Was she that weak? To simply let her picture be destroyed?
Pitiful and weak.
That’s what she had become it seemed.
Or was she strong?
Strong enough to face a life that was so ugly.
Distorted.
Broken.
Was she brave enough to continually pick up pieces that broke and try and make them fit again?
Pieces that crumbled.
Into dust.
Into nothing.
She was asked to do the almost impossible.
Could no one care for a girl who tried?
Who gave it her all?
Could no one love her again?
Now stained.
Stained with memories.
The kind that break down your hardest inner walls and bring you to tears.
The kind that pinch at every good thing left and discolor them.
That sqeeze away at endurance… until it runs dry.
And as she tries… she is mocked.
Beaten.
Hit by boulders that others roll her way
Trying to slow her down.
And those willing to take her off that road are those who want to use.
USE HER.
As pleasure for themselves.
A simple toy.
Do they not realize who she is?
What she is?
Somewhere…
In the farthest part of her mind she holds on to an idea.
And idea that reminds her of hope for her future…
It is a sparkle… no bigger in size than a grain of sand…
It’s a promise.
The promise that she IS ALWAYS the daughter of a king.
That someone is by her side… and then,
Carrying her when all her limbs have been battered.
Whispering in her ear if she continues he will heal her.
He will fix her imperfections.
He will replace the nightmare in her eyes with light
With fire.
A fire that can burn the lonely nights out of her mind.
A fire that can spark new plans in her field of nothing.
A fire that can boil in her blood…
REFINING IT
And that blood can run through her veins
And cleanse her and make her new.
That can kill the disease of despair.
His promise to be new… to be clean… lingers in her heart.
It wipes her mind… of her torment. Even if just for a moment.
It reminds her of her angels.
The ones who talked to her in the middle of the night when others wouldn’t listen.
The ones who though they had heard her story a million times chose to listen again.
The ones who looked at her with concern.
The ones who cheered her along the way.
The ones who cried WITH her.
The ones who opened their homes, asking nothing in return.
The ones who knew all the right words to say.
The ones who put their lives on hold to plan yet one more way to fix her.
To help her.
The ones who offered their love-
Those that offered their understanding.
The one who was here because of her, that she brought into this life...
THEY were her angels.
And her angels would look in at her through that single window.
That single window in the cell she was trapped in.
And they would give her hope.
HOPE.
They would be her only sunshine in a dreary, dark, cold universe.
She lived for them.
She cried for them.
She felt undeserving.
Unclean
Unfit for such love.
But she craved it.
Needed.
Needed it.
Begged and yearned for it.
But after everything was it still to be deserved?
It was one of millions of thoughts.
Thoughts that circulated her mind without ceasing.
Her mind.
Was it sick?
Or had it just been suffocated by layers and layers of debris?
Could she have control over nothing?
Had she gone too far?
Spiral.
Her thoughts began to twist into a storm again.
A monsoon of reflection
Where every drop is different
One is a new idea of how to fix an err
While another is revenge.
Another is tenderness
Another is ache.
There are uncountable drops.
Creating a puddle
With it’s ripples going on forever.
It’s like a parasite.
Eating her alive.
Will it ever end?
Will these thoughts of the past leave me alone?
Will this crazy… “life” if that’s what you can call it ever turn around?
It has to.
Because it’s not ok.
And most importantly...
Because there IS hope.
Hope.
My next entry will explain the poem :) Peace out.
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