Ana: A Sketch Essay

*Trigger Warning* 

*THIS ESSAY CONTAINS SENSTIVE CONTENT AND EXPLICIT DETAILS OF EATING DISORDERS, SEXUAL ABUSE REFERENCES – READ WITH CAUTION* 

Ana: A Sketch Essay 

She is present and she is absent. She is cold and unforgiving. She is bold, and unwanted. She is thoughtless, careless and the saddest creature you will ever encounter. She is the mistress of manipulation. She is inside my head.

 Think of a tangled mess of bare branches that are attached to an aging, creaking, once flourishing- now spiky Red Wood tree carcass. Nails on a chalkboard, her bones creak and break with every step she takes. Skin as white as snow, eyes black as holes with tear ducts streaming a nile of endless sorrow. Her hair is long, black and stringing with grease. A grotesque little thing she is. Her smile sends shivers down spines – reaching earlobe to earlobe and curling at her gums, exposing yellow pointed teeth and a slight empty laugh -Ana’s smile is frightening enough to make anyone run. Her official name is Anorexia, though I personally know her as Ana. She does not appear this way physically to the world, and is constantly attempting to dismantle my confidence into fragmented pieces.  

Ana reminds me of the pretty girl who I used to walk by in the hallways of my highschool. That outwardly looks like she had absolutely everything at her perfectly polished fingertips. This girl had eyes that were as bright blue as a California spring day, that were always overcast due to the pain I saw herself putting through. That same girl walked through the doors of one of my group therapy treatments when I was a sophomore in high school, hand in hand with her laxative addiction. She was a perfect abstraction of outwardly false confidence, but still one of the most striking girls I have ever seen. It does take one to know one. Some people kill for beauty, even if it means themselves.

Ana and I have known each other for quite some time, for ongoing ten years. I first met Ana, diagnostically, when I was fifteen, in my personally infamous year of 2012, though I now have presumptions that she and I had been acquainted for some years before that. I met her on a first name basis in a tiny doctors office – a day that is forever in my mind as a core memory. Of course, Ana did not reveal the horror of her true identity to me all at once. It was only after she was identified, named and defined as a negative narrative that I now live with for the rest of my life, that she revealed how ugly she can get. 

 I wondered as I got older where Ana came from. Did she come from  the inhumanly disproportionate, plastic Barbies my mother used to get for me? I had always secretly wished as a little girl to grow up to be as beautiful as those late 90’s Mattel manufactured Barbie dolls. Was it the Victoria Secret catalogs that would come in my family’s mail? Could it have been watching my mother, going through the blood, sweat and pain of the 2000’s toxic diet culture trends? Thinking to myself whenever she broke out in a hungry induced fit of anger, that I would never want to end up in her condition and having to go through the same thing.  

I had grown up with pretty things all around me. Princess this and pink that during childhood. Now almost grown up, I have developed a love for fashion, dresses and fragrances. I am considered to be a girly girl, and do take care of myself routinely. One of my greatest fears is that I am as ugly as Ana. How can I not be? I heard the saying “what is psychological is also physiological” from an old psych teacher once and for a longtime, I had applied it to be the logic behind my insecurities. Anorexia (Ana) is a life-long diagnosis with no cure and no medications to cleanse her from the person she inhabits. Only treatments, programs, the threat of being fed through a tube, and constant care repetitions. Having Ana in my mind feels like a minefield inside of my own head – being triggered to the front of my consciousness at the drop of the right pin.

My entire life I have had my parents and loved ones comment on what a pretty and petite thing I am – though it doesn’t penetrate Ana’s smoke screen around my self-confidence. I was even a child model and actor for quite some time, shouldn’t that tell me something? For a disorder that is rumored to be motivated by fat-phobia and vanity, Ana is quite in fact a gruesome thing to the host she resides in. She is a personalized deadly energy for said individual, if fed enough attention. She has no remorse and will relentlessly attempt to anchor me, or anyone she inhabits in her many demonistic forms down, if given even the slightest amount of time. I constantly find myself worrying: Do I look like this Ana on the outside? 

Having Anorexia does not mean that I am fearful of becoming overweight (all the time) but it does mean that there are more days than I would like to admit where I avoid my own reflection in the funhouse mirrors that seem to follow me everywhere I go. Body Dysmorphic Disorder comes as a buy one get one free with having an ED. Just the other day while exercising we were asked to place our feet hip distance apart. My instructor came by and corrected me – pulling my feet from 7 inches to about an inch and a half apart and said “Julia, your hips are not that big”. I felt embarrassed knowing that was a body dysmorphic disorder move, at its finest. 

 

The amount of times I have put makeup on and heard Ana’s taunting voice in the back of my head is tragically sad: 

“You think that concealer can cover those fine lines?”

“Is that a double chin I see forming?”

“You’re the ugliest thing I have ever seen”

“Give up Julia, you’re just not good at this pretty girl shit” 

I then cap my Chanel lipstick and take a deep breath as I take a step away from the mirror and feel warmth flush over my face as tears swell into my eyes. I just want to feel pretty. I wish I could just like myself at this moment, but even though I don’t – I go back to applying my makeup to the taunting tune of Ana’s nasty and untrue comments. 

I hate to admit that Ana knows me very well, but not all of me. She knows nothing of my true self. A happy, ambitious and loving individual who is confidently excited for everyday I get to live. I am the friend who always has a smile on her face, rings any environment I am in with laughter and will always go out of my way to help those who I love and need it.  Ana only knows my vulnerabilities, my triggers, destructive coping mechanisms and what presses my anger. I hate to say that on the days where I see her lurking in my shadow – there is a battle of self conflict between myself and Ana. 

She tries to remind me that she was trying to save me when we first met – I was diagnosed with Anorexia when I was also unknowingly being molested, in that infamous year of 2012, at just fifteen years of age. Ana came to my as demon disguised angel who planted the toxic and permanent seed in my head:

 “Starve yourself till you are so small,  no one will be able to touch you, see you, he won’t be able to touch you anymore – you’ll be invisible” 

Today I am twenty-five and Ana is still a chip on my shoulder, a pain in my ass and an unfortunate part of me. As I have grown older, I have learned to treat myself better. Exercise, eat well, practice mindfulness. Ana’s kryptonite is positivity and self love – light. It is me versus Ana on the days where she comes crashing into my psyche, attempting to poison and pick apart everything I have done to build myself into an independent person away from the engraved attachment she and I have. 

I tell you, Dear reader, of the horror that is having Anorexia to attempt breaking the stigma that Eating Disorders are a form of fatphobia – and remind society – eating disorders do in fact exist. There are many examples in my life where I have gotten unwanted comments on my body that I know come from these assumptions, somewhere. 

“Her waist is as big as my thigh”

“Aren’t you just the teenisest, tiniest person I have ever seen?”

“You don’t need to workout, you’re so skinny already!”

“Yea, all ten pounds of her couldn’t help me”

My eating disorder was manifested from a series of traumatic events that started from an extremely young age and that was born during one of the hardest times of my life. In no way do I look at other people who are bigger than me and think to skip a meal so I won’t end up looking like them. I don’t keep certain foods out of my diet to look like anybody else – and certainly do not choose to be mentally berated inside my own head, just to keep a slim waistline. 

There are some days where I feel as small as Thumblina. The unprecedented commentary from other women just feeds into Ana’s darkness in ways that I have yet to figure out. And that is what I intended to do, confront Ana time and time again until I can look in mirrors without seeing a false reflection. I want to enjoy a treat and not rip myself apart from eating it later, I don’t want to skip meals because of a bad day or stressful situation. Eventually I want to bring awareness to the Eating Disorder community and society: that instead of treatments and therapy, consisting of increased calories and limited physical activity – that we need to learn how to be confident and love ourselves. We need to know how to ease the clench around our throats in order to speak to ourselves nicer inside our own heads and most importantly, find healthy coping mechanisms when things get tough. 

At the end of the day I am strong enough to know that this is my life, not Ana’s. And though living with her some days feel as though I am as haunting looking as she is, I soak up every moment I get where she is not present inside of the day or thoughts. I take advantage of these moments by writing mantras to myself, finding new things to experiment with in fashion that are both comfortable and to my liking. I shake off the comments from others because I know they have no idea who I truly am, where I have been and what I live with. With everything that I have been through, I know one day I’ll be able to live in health and clarity with myself – and even smile at my own reflection. Later to become an active voice, guiding those who relate to my story to light and love in the ED community.

Ana is a ghastly creature, but that doesn’t mean I am or have to be either. Exuding kindness and graciousness in all areas of my life is what keeps me going. As well as knowing that I too will tell my story and have it be widely known as a learning lesson: We truly do not see ourselves as others think we do. And to always, speak to yourself as kind as you would to someone you love. 

 

Julia Katherine Publications – Copyright 2022

Sprouting: A Reflection By Julia Katherine

Dear reader, 

2021 has been a closed chapter in all of our books. I wanted to share with you some of my reflections and most integral experiences last year. 2021 was  filled with incredible achievements, flourishing with bright and vivacious days. I do not know if the memories of my friend’s smile were shining brighter than the summer sun, or if I just remember it that way.  

Of course, not every day was so great. 2021 introduced me to a new side of my anxiety I had never encountered. I started the beginning of the year by losing my beloved first pet and went through phases of crippling overthinking. I reached peaks of stress from battling the over-achiever that was born in that year. I watched walls that I had spent so much time and pain building up disintegrate, as I transformed them (and myself) into new, healthy boundaries and habits. I opened myself and my mind to small and big things in life – these days, even I look back in awe. 

  The biggest difference I see in myself now is instead of  numbing those bad days away- I confront them and sent them straight to a place in my brain I like to call ‘processing’ – a mental note to self to learn from my mistakes. I also don’t make habits or patterns that are harmful for me anymore – though there have been some days where wine doesn’t taste as bitter. I like this little part of me that takes tabs on behavioral patterns and choices not to repeat again. 

  Take it from me reader, it is not expected of you to change into an entirely new person overnight. I tend to also comfort my anxiety by reminding myself, Rome was not built in a day, though a wise friend told me that it only takes that long to burn it all down. 

At the beginning of the 2021, I was working as a Starbucks barista (again) and had just applied for Arizona State Universities online B.S program. I was contemplating going back to the local community college in my area, but my boss at the time (a wonderful lady) gave me a pep talk to take the chance with applying to the Starbucks ASU program. After the application process, I anxiously awaited the answer of whether or not I got into ASU and put my head into a spin. My GPA plummeted when I was abusing substances and I saw little to almost no light for my educational dreams. Though I didn’t get accepted initially – I was put into ASU’s pathway program. This was a program that included taking courses for credit but I had to maintain at least a C average or better GPA. And I learned fast, grew faster. 

I created a completely healthy, disciplined and dedicated routine for myself when it came to studying and turning in assignments. I would wake up before the sun came up on my days off and pound out work at my desk – some days were as long as 8-10 hours. I want(ed) not to only succeed – but to soar. Avenge myself in a way, that would put as far of a gap in between my old self as I could. And that’s exactly what I did. The scores started to rack in at 100% and I became addicted to my own success. There was something about surprising myself with the level of commitment that drew me in further, made me more curious – and motivated me to always give my best if not more. 

This is where I believe my anxiety and the long road of learning not to be so hard on myself was born. Immediately I was overcome with self-induced pressure, I felt as though every assignment I turned in was an art piece made of glass. One wrong move and all my hard work could shatter away. My anxiety would conjure fears, like my professor dropping me from a class just for missing a piece of information. I know that’s pretty dramatic to say, but when has anxiety ever been known to be rational? After turning in big projects my mind would race as I would try to fall asleep some nights: 

“Shit…did I use the right headers? Should I have triple checked that assignment? What if I fail all over again…”  

 

Between this, interning and working I had my hands full. Deadlines, Zoom meetings, intern interview assignments, getting up at 3 AM to get up for an eight hour shift – I put in work during 2021 to say the least. Which naturally led to the days where the pressures of it all simmer over and come out emotionally. There were 7AM crying fits, crippled by the fear of failure, because I had seen it once before. If you dear reader have also expressed stress attacks due to high expectations for yourself, even as early as when you first open your eyes to the pounding repeated sound of your alarm – you are not alone.

 Stress comes in nasty forms for each individual. Whether it be under or over eating, using any sort of substances, nail biting, skin picking, trouble sleeping or being mentally paralyzed by the rapid thoughts reminding you of all you have to do or improve on. Stress can do things like poison the mind in thinking that the people you love do not love you back and that all your hard work is for nothing.

 What I have learned is: Stress attacks happen and there’s nothing we can do to prevent them. What we can do is aid ourselves, learn from it and repeat. How we pick ourselves up and continue on afterwards is what matters.  I found in 2021 that truly taking one thing at a time is a helpful tool. Don’t let the amount of times you have fallen or life has held you down be the reason why you do not ever get back up. 

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results – then laying in bed and letting anxiety consume you while expecting it all to go away tomorrow- is a contestant of insanity. There is a difference between visiting our comfort zones versus being consumed by them. This is a topic I visited in my writing last year as well. I knew that I had to get up every I felt the weight of all my tasks was pushing down on me. There was no other option but for me to keep going. This mentality worked swiftly and rewardingly for myself. 

The happy ending to my ASU story is I received my acceptance letter from my first choice program, on my twenty-fifth birthday. I raised my GPA to a semester 4.0 and calculated 3.71 and still have that today as we enter Spring 2022. 

During 2021 I tested boundaries and limits I had once falsely assigned. I gathered myself together by creating a foundation for myself of hard work and consistency. Slowly but surely new patterns and parts of myself emerged that have taken many, including myself, by a positive surprise. I started becoming aware of not only what I was thinking but also saying. I finally wasn’t scared to get to know myself.

For me, that goes very deep. Due to the work in progress with my traumatic past – I didn’t want to know myself or let anyone else get the chance too, for a long time. One of the many discouraging feelings that carries into one’s adulthood when they have been sexually exploited as a child, is that you’re a fifthly person. That since I was used in such a malicious and disgusting manner, for the pleasure of a monster, that must mean I am one too, right?

 

WRONG.

Once I started detaching from that decade old mentality this…beautiful person started to make an appearance in around spring of 2021. I blossomed, with the trees and roses all around me. My smile grew more genuine as the sun rays came out on warm California days. My self confidence started to immerge once again. I now have the dream support team that includes a group of young women who are superheroes, a loving family and my incredible Ian. All of these people, individually, are why I believe Earth side angels exist. 

Dear reader, I am going to end on a happy note because I am not a writer who accepts sad endings. If any of my words strike your heart and churn in your thoughts then let that transpire into action. The strength of human resilience is innately inside us all. It is most commonly said not to let other people dictate your life for you, or hold you back. What I think needs to be said more, don’t let YOURSELF hold you back. 

 

I’m off to work on a few other projects. And I cannot wait for my first novel debut. 2022 is my year, and yours too. 

 

Love and kindness, 

Julia 

 

Addictive Behavior Observations and Admissions: An Article of Empathy by Julia Katherine

As the seasons have been changing, I have officially decided that I will be one of those people who is in an almost constant state of metamorphosis. This mindset has made the swift changing social conditions of the world easier to accept and adapt; and easier for me to accept myself, without addiction. I broke walls, false morals and repeated cycles that I had made during those freezing years of my life. After some time in my head, I have finally been able to put together a few of my thoughts about addiction and how I see it in different forms in my life. 

A LOT about me has changed. My room, my clothing, my routines, my work and school ethic, my friends, my relationship with my family and the people who care about me. I’m also able to keep a stable and healthy relationship that has recently just reached its one year mark. Ian, if you’re reading this now and any time in the future, I love you. You’ve been more than my rock since I met you a couple years ago. How far we’ve come individually as well as together, is the most beautiful thing I have had the blessing (though I am in no way religious- you are the closest thing to an angel I have ever seen) to call mine, in a long, long time. I can’t wait for our tomorrows. 

I recently told Ian about my boundary with relationships and my writing. That since we have now been dating for a year, and if he was okay with it (he was absolutely thrilled and spun me around in excitement) to be featured on my website and written into my pieces. 

Ian is one of  the reasons why keeping my priorities in life together has been more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. I used to think that sustainable relationships weren’t obtainable- until I accepted change. He has expressed to me that we wouldn’t be together if I was still using, and I don’t blame him. I don’t blame anyone for leaving while I was using. However, those individuals were not meant for me in my current evolving prime. 

   To those who are reading this, and are in a time in your life where you continuously keep hearing people tell you to get your shit together- I promise you two things. One: when you do start to take the steps to pull yourself together- life is better than any high or low you’re currently chasing. Two: If you’re hearing what’s left of your conscience is trying to tell you that you need to change- it’s time to actually do something about it and stop numbing it. Three: The emotional, spiritual and overall humane experience of regaining one’s self after numbing with substances or destructive comfort zones is astronomical. I can tell you this from personal experience. 

 

  I have been advised in therapy many, many times that in order for one to keep healthy relationships, you must have a healthy relationship with yourself. Your life is as good of quality as you put into it. This includes how you treat yourself, the quality of the people around you and how they take care of themselves and their lives. I am no longer friends or in contact with anyone who I used with. Though I have gained a gallant amount of positive company back into my life. (Thank you to my lovely coworker who is also an artist- who asked me when my next piece was- you are a part of the positivity I’ve gained in this new phase of my life.)

 One of the scary things about drugs is how it silently takes over the user. This also applies to people in our lives that we may want but in no way need. 

 

 I remember when I first started “doing” cocaine, and telling myself as I fell asleep at night that I needn’t succumb to the consequences that cocaine could bring. I also remember meeting young people who have similar traumatic backgrounds to mine, witnessing them fall under the curse of addiction and promising myself that will never be me. However, it took over so quickly, so silently- I didn’t remember ever having boundaries like that until after I got sober. And want became need, when I discovered how easily the deadly white powder numbed the violent flashbacks of my kidnapped youth. 

  Another ‘addiction’ that I have observed is: the influence that we unconsciously absorb into our lives from the people closest around us. There are many ways to interpret this of course. A common example used in my psych classes was: Having trouble letting go of that childhood best friend who isn’t going off to college? But is guilting you for going off to University.  Equallying into either a tough choice made by the friend who has his academic career on the horizon or choosing to stay in his comfort zone. Another more common example; have you ever known that toxic couple who keeps anchoring one another down, yet neither one leaves? Personally, I have experienced this. However, I dumped my unlawful treatment after a little over two years. I have also seen people from my past turn down amazing opportunities due to such minneal things like the printer paper weighted strength of a promising forever friend from someone they went to high school with. 

My point of these observed examples over the years is; the addiction of not being alone seems better than to risk the free fall feeling and breaking out of something bad in one’s life. I have seen people turn down even better opportunities because they let their own destructive behaviors get in the way of starting anew. It wasn’t until I started questioning behavioral patterns and not just addiction based ones that I started to grasp a better understanding on how to break and prevent toxic cycles.

Behavioral psychology was one of my favorite sub-branches of psychology to listen to in lecture as well as read about both for school, as well as personal knowledge purposes. Behavioral psychology studies human behavior from infancy to elder years in behaviors, patterns, cycles- that make us, us (in very simple terms). The subject categorizes expected or “normal” behavioral patterns for each stage of life and the milestones or downsides and the reactions that come with them. For almost every life milestone, there is a psychological explanation for the reaction and behavior following said event. Behavioral psychology also allows us to explore the reasons as to why we make choices beyond what is considered the ‘norm’ (in psych- the word ‘normal’ is looked down upon- but still used) 

In life, anything can become an addiction. Usually when one hears the term addiction, the first thought usually is substance addiction. However, this demon comes in many forms. Addiction can be to video games, to lying, to certain people or persons, to projecting a false persona. Addiction can be food, pills, working out, gambling, sex, cars, cocaine, heroin, working- the limits for addiction are unfortunately- almost limitless. 

A common phenomenon that I caught onto in my hometown, besides drugs and toxic relationships, is the addiction to image and social status. Imagery in the bay area is important to many and essential for most. Social status is also as imperative as physical health. In some cases, physical appearance takes precedence over maintaining a healthy well being. Girls and guys will hang on to the most toxic people in their lives romantically just so they won’t be alone. Having a circle of friends to be able to show off on Instagram or strut downtown- is a social up-play move.  God forbid in the bay area you don’t have anyone to keep you distracted from what you actually need to be addressing to progress in life. I make that remark thinking of myself as well. I tend to try not to think about where my life would be now, if I had not wasted so much time on people who ended up never being good for me. You’ll see a pair of nike airforce1’s on the feet of one in five girls from the ages of 16-26. Addias graphics and unconsciously rapper inspired clothing for the males. Louis Vuitton logos glistening in the sun’s reflection. Perfected middle parts and the newest mom jeans. Winged linger and graphic logo’d snapbacks. One cannot deny the bay area has style- that’s for sure. With so many people putting in so much effort to what they look like in the East Bay, many have forgotten to work on what is really important- the development of self. I truly wonder how many people I used to associate myself with can honestly say that they are no longer producing the same patterns of destructive behavior- addictive behavior, that they were during the duration of our relations. 

That saying about your comfort zone hurting you, is true. We as humans are not meant to be stagnant creatures, though we can adapt to be one. What I mean by this is; there comes a point in repeated behaviors where we lose ourselves. We lose our inner voice that tells us when we should stop hurting ourselves and that we deserve better. I am aware that what I am stating also comes with many factors, which include those outside inflictions that we cannot control. But what we can control is our sense of moderation. In Philosophy, one of the founding fathers of the subject, Aristotle once said: “Moderation in everything, including moderation”. So, again, for those that are stuck in a rut of any sort or find themselves trapped in repeated behaviors- trying adding a different action or behavioral choice into your mix to debunk what is dragging you down. If this means having to step away from the world, socially, then by all means do what is necessary to get yourself out of your addictive behavioral choices. Just don’t forget to communicate with the people you love, that you’re detaching for a while. 

I have lost friends, many of them in fact, to  past behavioral patterns and addictions of my own. I was trying to make it look like I was completely functional and succeeding. I was the girl who spent hours wasting her life away with sleepless, strung out nights- wrongly rationalizing that what I was doing was productive at the time. When you are under the spell of a drug’s deadly addiction;  the only sense of accomplishment you have is when you score.  The addiction was cocaine, the behavioral cycles and patterns were: lying, manipulating, greed. I don’t blame the people who left for never wanting to come back. I was quite the flash fire flame when I was indulging in the wrong side of life’s vices. Even now, I have left behind my bad habits; the bad habits of others that are not societially as imperative as drug addiction came into beaming light of observation and curiosity to me.

 

To the girl that’s been with that partner for way too long- who is clearly NOT good for you- why do you stay? I see you look away when happy couples walk by. 

If that partner were heroin, would you stay with him until the end?

To the girl who keeps chasing disguised orges and life-sucking vampires when you could clearly have prince charming- do you want to keep practicing your behavior? Or, will you actually tell yourself that you deserve better than what you are familiar with and know how to temporarily control? To the girl who lets her past control her silently in the present day, why don’t you let those private tears flow? What is so physically painful about accepting the pain of yesterday and embracing the opportunities of healing and life tomorrow? These are all questions I have asked myself for years based on my life and the people who I have known.

 

Why do we choose to suffer subconsciously when all we need is to be able to stand/speak up for ourselves? All it takes is one pebble to be thrown and a cascade of ripples will erupt. I feel as though people need to be reminded just a little bit more: That little thing you did yesterday to change yourself for the better is an amazing first step to all the good you want to see for yourself. And, that you deserve. 

I ask this last question knowing that it is easier said than done. 

The hardest time I have ever had to speak up was when I had to tell my father that I was being wrongly sexually infiltrated and used when I was a young, young minor. 

However, it has been since that day- that I had made a promise with myself, that I would never again let myself suffocate underneath anyone again. No outside source would be able to cause me pain again. Though I never expected that I would be inflicting destruction onto myself when I started using and this is something that weighs on my mind deeply. However, it’s processing and on its way to healing. 

Drugs are different from people. 

For some people, it is people that kill them as softly and silently as any substance would. And for the rest, it is the substance that is the latter. 

This is exactly my point: people become addicted to other people. And the behavior that comes along with the addiction itself, weighs just as much as a destructive addiction than the person itself. 

 

I’ve experienced this first hand. My second serious relationship, I was with someone who suffocated the developing young lady I was on the road to be- with destructive and manipulative treatment and behaviors. That seeped into my subconscious making me think: So, because he treated me like this, I can treat other people like this. Especially, because of how much pain I’m in. 

 

I feel as though so many people carry this mindset. Dishing out pain to the undeserving, residually leftover from the painful past relation. I’ve endured unintended emotional pain from people I used to call my best friends. I have seen the most beautiful and intelligent women break down over the most pitiful example for a boy. Myself included. I think one of the worst addictions of life can be the addiction from a made up expectation or version of a person, besides substances. This makes me think of the times my friends would dream of the sober me I am today. And while I was one of the lucky ones to make it out of the grasp of addiction, I was recently told by a close friend of mine that: “there are some people who are too far gone, Julz. Some people are still there but they haven’t been for a long time.” 

 

I’ll start my conclusion with a confession. I still struggle with addiction. I’m currently working on kicking the vaping habit and want to eventually reduce my caffeine intake. The fact I’ve even conjured those thoughts on my own, reassures myself that I am growing, once again.  Everyday I used to run away and numb so many parts of my past and unknowingly then, so many parts of my beautiful self that I have gotten to know now more and more every day. 

Readers; if you are depressed, if you are stuck, if you are fighting addiction, if you are somewhere lost in this crazy world: please take my words and let them linger. I’ll reassure you that in life- we don’t have to know the answers of our futures right away. Just having a thought of “what if” and “I want this instead of what I’m currently enduring” – is a sign that positive change is on the way.

 

Keep going. 

 

Love, 

 

Julia Katherine

The Return of Her: Julia Katherine

Hello Readers, 

Welcome back, and welcome in- to another era of myself that I am bearing to anyone who stumbles across my website. And if that is you, welcome and thank you. 

I would like to say that my website, my writing, my ‘space’ on the internet is one of a comforting nature. My writing has topics that are traumatic, however, with a tone of soft fluctuations and always filled with love. I know one thing is for certain, if I didn’t have the love from my support system, and myself, I would not be where I am today. 

Where do I begin- 

Where should I begin…

It should firstly be noted that it took an extremely long time for me to build up to this very moment. I haven’t sat down at my desk, of sober mind, in over four years. Yes. Four years. 

I’ll go ahead and start my re-introduction with a few confessions. 

For anyone that was following me on any social media platforms (Spring to the end of summer 2019) you followed me through cocaine induced psychosis/ mental breakdown. After four years of a vigorously active, on-again-off-again relationship with cocaine, compartmentalized childhood sexual abuse, and a traumatic abortion experience (that was only ONE year prior to this) it finally all caught up to me.

For anyone who saw me in person during this time, and was negatively affected, I apologize. For anyone that saw me during this time, and is still worried that I am in that same mindset- I am long past it.     

It is no secret to anyone who has read my writing or knows me personally that my story is full of trauma and tragedy. Last summer, I think, was all of that trauma coming to surface at once, as well as a horrible mix of cocaine and alcohol. 

Here are some things I have experienced since the last time I have sat down to write, just as I am now: 

  1. Waking up in a hospital with little or no recollection of how I got there 
  2. Mental paranoia that a bay area rapper was trying to rise me to fame 
  3. Being dragged and handcuffed by the police 
  4. Almost losing everyone I have ever loved, and I mean this in the scary: “We love you but have to let you go if you don’t accept help,” way
  5. Letting every single demon I have ever battled control my body, mind and soul

Are you still with me, readers? I know, that was a lot to take in. 

Let me update you on some positives in my life…

  1. I work five days a week (aside from the writing)
  2. I finally have a stable and healthy relationship with the most amazing guy
  3. I am sober from cocaine and hard alcohol
  4. I still write
  5. I fully and mentally recovered from my episode with no horrid side effects- or at least I haven’t seen any.
  6. I am back at a university, not community college  

I have thought long and hard all year on how I wanted to return to my passion, that is writing. For you see, during my psychotic episode, I used my writing and my website, in my mind- as some sort of…weapon? Mothership? I felt as though my writing at that time held the significance, symbolism and metamorphic meaning as did the eye portrait of TJ Eckeleberg from F. Scottfitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby.”

I had conjured it up in my head that my manic writing were words of a just woman. That I was given some sort of power, making it okay for me to pass judgement on people who have hurt me.  That is one of things I remember doing the most, during my episode.  (a lot of my psychosis I don’t remember unless I really try) And while I  am embarrassed that I used my passion as a form of destruction, that does not mean I still won’t be opening up about the people who have done me wrong in this life. And tell my side of the story. This is how I make peace and give myself closure with most of the trauma in my life. Also because, the people who were a part of these situations don’t want anything to do with me and only keep me in their memory- knowing the truths that I store in my mind must haunt a few.  Making examples out of those who brought me injustice, is my way of getting justice. 

If you are reading this now, those destructive pieces that I wrote while I was manic are gone. Instead, as stated earlier, my approach to telling these stories comes from a place of hope and sanctuary for myself and my readers.  I know that there are many people in this world that have experienced similar pain, as I have myself- so I am putting myself out in the world for others to lean in and lean on- to relate too. As well as bringing comfort to each and every one who reads my writing. 

Please, let me remind you,  

You are not alone.”

And if you didn’t get the chance to read those manic pieces, don’t worry. 

There is no market for a girl who tears down other people in a manic state. 

So…where do we go from here?

I’m back. 

It’s currently 9:13 A.M, Friday morning and I have been up for four hours gritting my teeth in anxious joy, thinking about coming back to the writing word. And here I am, once again, being fulfilled and rejuvenated with my passion for writing. One word at a time. 

 There was a point in my break from writing where I had almost accepted that my gift- the spark that makes my fingers tap the keys of my board, imitating the sound of a perfectly percussion drum- may never come back to me. That my using of hard drugs had dimmed my light inside of me. The light that shines through me; reflecting to the world: she’s a writer. Or, that my lack of writing was some sort of universal karma for all the damage I had done to the people around me after the entire episode was over. 

Did I mention, it lasted ALL summer? 

I am a writer. It is in the blood that flows through my veins. It wakes me up every morning, each ray of sunshine that peaks through my shuddered windows, waiting for me to open them, and soak up what I shall write about that day. I see words and stories from experiences as little as getting a coffee, or opening up about anything from my past. My voice cannot carry a melody but it can stay steady whilst I read my words from a page that will one day go from my hands, to yours, and then to a shelf- destined to be collecting dust in the back of someone’s bookshelf. And opened when one is in need of a boost of comfort. 

I am so excited for what the future holds. Remember,  leather bound and ivory towers, that girl turned into a lady; ready to grace her readers with all her powers. 

Love,

Julia Katherine 

A Message Of Hope For Women Who Empathize

It was a message from a close friend of mine that helped my conscious thought connect with one of the vaults of unspoken memories inside my head when I realized: Mother’s Day is tomorrow.

I had the unfortunate run in with life and that thing called choice January a year ago. I chose to have an abortion nine days into the new year of 2018 after finding out only 72 hours into it. The famous Christmas song lyric and melody scrape the inner workings of my bone tissue in a way that I have not yet begun to face yet.

“We wish you a Merry Christmas….and a happy new year.”
I did for myself back then as well…

The fact of the matter is, it has been one year later and this is my second mothers day. I remember last years day quite well.

I got myself all nice, pretty and dressed. My improving weighted frame in threads of black. From the heels that lifted myself from the harsh concretes of the Earth to the tight fitting top that would often be to small – I had an issue of letting go clothing from certain periods of my life. While there is admittedly still a black sweatshirt hanging in the far back of my closet, it seems to cycle back into the first left into my mind.

My feelings on this day. In this moment:

I am calm.

Whilst I am not a mother to a physical soul, I spoke to the one that I carried for seven weeks in my tiny little belly, in the moments I was left alone while the once expecting boy-father- I never understood why he fought so hard and claimed he was: “There for me there for me there for me.”

Put down the goddamn video game controller, take a deep breathe and adult the fuck up- in this very paragraph is where I am opening myself up to the world my most vulnerable thoughts on my experience because: humanity learns from others experiences because we are all selfish enough by nature to whisper in the back of our mental selves: “I am so happy that has never or did not happen to me.”

It takes anyone with enough of a basic understanding of human emotion as well as the obviously known biological and physical changes a woman goes through for many MAN to see: She is now not herself more than ever and this is a moment to prove to myself (speaking a if I were the boy) that I can step up to the plate for what is half mine. I know she is probably terrified because of what she knows happened before her…”

I have a strong inclination that after or possibly never, has the second party in my situation has ever had the heart, courage for himself as well as even the confidence in him as a human- to realize what he did was completely inhumane.

People should never: Leave without saying the truth- that way there is less mess to clean after the storm of lies settles in the dust, decay and debris of what once was the most fantastic friendships I have ever had the pleasure of calling mine.

I have long let go the idea of resurrection between him and I. I don’t think he will ever understand that because I once carried a physical result of our physical action: he could not, in that time, physically handle it.

I do not forgive you.

I will not forget either of you two and how you changed my life forever.

All my love,

Julia Katherine

A Philosophers Thought

As a philosopher who studies existentialism, I believe in existence, not essence. I believe in free will, over determinism. However, there are those times that the most life-saving coincidences have occurred in my life. And then, those situations that are not as much live saving, as they are puzzling.  

My mind can trail as far as my first year in third grade. Whenever it came time for my parents to discuss my progress with my beloved teacher, she would always commemorate me on how advanced my writing skills were, for being so young. To this day, I am an up and coming author, however, I am a writer.

Coincidences have always been circulated throughout my life. Little things that were mentioned in what would have been another time-filling conversation that moments later; become a universal and mental connection.

There was once a sick man in my life who inappropriately told me that my breasts would look amazing if they I pierced them. When I was nineteen, and years had passed from that evil man- the day I single-minded made my own choice to get them done. This same man had suggested to me, that I would thrive in Starbucks as my first workplace. I worked there for a total of almost four years.

What does this mean? How does this get explained? I could easily see a psychological analysis being conducted with results along the lines of: I was only settling or possibly overcoming a trauamtic childhood experience.

I am writing a final paper on the existential argument: existence vs. essence. Early ancient western Greek philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle both believed that for one to live a “good” life, they must live out the essence that they are given before they are born. For centuries, this essence was regularly known as God. That is until the mid-nineteenth century when the French father of Existentialism came to rise. It is genuinely shocking how radical Sartre’s philosophy that man is free, and that our essence comes as we live out our existence, during his time. I agree with Sartre. There is no posterior knowledge within us, in my opinion. We each are in utero for up to nine months, and from the second we are born, comes the interactions and interpretations that surround us to shape later how we make our choices. We are our own choices.

Those instances I had mentioned early from my past put a kink into my radical philosophical beliefs and thinking. In the situations where the bad man gave me those suggestions regarding invasive body mutilation and where to start my first job- I chose to pursue them both. I, Julia-Katherine woke up one morning and decided all by myself, without thought or recollection into my past, to alter my body. To be honest readers, I hadn’t remembered that the sick man with a three letter name had made that remark to me. I hadn’t recognized that until a killer swarm of late night PTSD had set in at least ten months or so later. Years before this had happened, but when he was no longer a part of my life, there was a hiring Starbucks location within walking distance from my house. At that time there was an eager seventeen-year-old who was looking for her first job, something close. Did the evil man determine my fate for both of my actions? Did my subconscious happen to remember both of these instances and I just went with it? These are the type of questions a philosopher asks. Or was it merely that, Starbucks was a convenient option for my first workplace, and I had wanted my breasts pierced for a while- as a girl who already has quite a few body piercings already.

As for the situation that I am convinced occurred due to fate, or whatever Science, Laws of Physics nor Philosophy could explain- I am thankful. I am thankful for one of those “signs” that Sartre highly dislikes in his works as being nothing but a reaction from an action. For in this case, it was not that. It was simply someone or something looking into me and my life at that very moment, and saving me.

An Opinionated Love Column By Julia Katherine

What is love? The intoxicating, deadly and ancient term still holds no set definition. Only a guideline of commonly shared symptoms among those who have been“bitten by the love bug.” That cute phrase has more meaning behind it than given credit for. The “love bug,” is a wise old tale that little girls learn growing up, to not touch any little boys, in avoidance by getting “bit by the cootie bug.” Then as little girls grow up, the bug evolves into“ the lust bug.” The Lust Bug, as I have so named it, is a disease that is as the adult cootie bug. A real-life emotionally straining illness that can occasionally turn into a committed relationship. Keyword: occasionally. Welcome to twenty eighteen where I and thousands of other millennials fear and dread being tied down. One of the symptoms of the lust bug is the grey area between physical intimacy and emotional intimacy. It’s sickly. Lust or love, both are toxic pests to the young female. The insect uses its venom draws out the most alluring and intoxicating emotions that make women seem like some crazed Moaning Myrtle. For a while, at least.

As I was driving home tonight, I was listening to a song by a band I have recently fallen for. Screaming lyrics; boasting of a romance that once brutishly captured a young singers heart. The singer is over her today. Lyrically, however, he still channels the way she made him feel when she left, to play every one of his shows. So his lyrics exclaim in the song “Upside Down.” I reminisced to myself of the three times I had been “bitten” by the love bug. (Only three boyfriends at twenty-two, my mother raised a lady) Each one during their time, I couldn’t picture my tomorrow without them. However, the sun always sets on the horizon.

In all three of my relationships, only after, did I realize that the “love/lust bug” was truly effective. There is a saying that goes: “It takes two to tango.” A small, however, powerful statement of a simple life explanation that possesses nothing but the truth. When two people become intimate in any way; the possible outcome and being together is a genuine option. I feel that is something young women today forget about. That in any grey area that confuses one or both parties as to whether or not they are in a regular relationship. Notice how I said both parties. Ladies, this means the man who is involved in your situation with you. Two to tango, remember? Women forget about that in most cases. Letting their little anxious mental voice romp free and destroy any good faith in the situation. Growing up female, we are taught that when a guy breaks up with you or decides not to sleep with you anymore; that the man has lost all emotional and physical interest in you. Leaving that anxious voice to tell us females that, “he’s fucking another girl because he grew tired of you.” This, however, is not true. Ladies, men have feelings too. Their social standard makes them feel inclined always to be our rock when we need them. No matter how little or ridiculous the situation may be. Leaving the impression on women of all ages that our men of interest are a strange kind of taffy that we can stretch and twist, without them breaking. This is not true whatsoever.

The relationship stereotypes that are presented to both sexes contradict in so many ways. I learned first hand that even the most handsome of knights that are decked out in the strongest of armor- could not save me. In the current day, I am a princess who woke up in a cold tower when 2018 had just begun. Those past months until now, I have slayed my own demons and have gotten myself out of that wretched tower. Now, I find myself free and happily exploring new fields of all reaches of life. If I ever do see a knight again, I will remember, there is someone under that handsome and robust suite of protection and honor. And that sometimes, he will need someone to protect him.

Ladies, have you ever asked yourself if he was as hurt during the times you were cried in front of him? Whether it was about him or not. Or, if he would be okay knowing you walked out his front door upset? Or if he misses you. If he thinks about you in the ways that you do him, happily. Two acts could lead to an answer in this case. One, ask the damn guy. Ask him those exact questions. Or, don’t. Keep your silence, and call it that. When your really just scared that he will either leave you with an open message or that he won’t give you that answer that you want. One thing is for sure, if you do keep your complete silence, you will only leave yourself questioning.

You know when we retell a story of a memory that involved some sort of pain? An accident of any kind, or a tattoo, so on. Most of us can remember that pain so badly to know that we would never want to re-experience it. Even when we retell memories of happiness, the elated feeling of brain chemicals that temporarily blissed our entire nervous system cannot be relived again. You can never relive a moment, only remember it. That’s why I believe it is moderately good to live in a moment and not worry or plan a future that is not guaranteed. However, there are a few memories that can trigger a chemical emotional reaction. Such as fear, humiliation or, PTSD. We learn some of the most important life lessons we will ever encounter through the feeling of love. I remembered this on my drive today.

I found myself trying to trigger the feeling of love. My mind flipped through my past encounters and some of the sweetest memories I hold. Though I could see the soft look in each set of eyes from all of my past guys, and though I remembered how safe and high I felt in each of those moments, I couldn’t trigger the actual feeling. As I watched the smoke dance in front of windshield, the cool autumn air had influenced my mood. I was cold- no, I was numb. I felt as though time had momentarily stopped when I had searched deep into my mind of when I used to call a man mine. I’ve had some awful experiences, but not all of them. With remembering that, where was the feeling?

You can’t get high without smoking, you can’t be drunk without drinking, but you can be loved, without having another variable factored in so you can achieve that feeling. That is what self love is. That is what I realized in many smokey stop lights.

Do you ever find yourself repeating a pattern that you once did with a significant other(s) Or is that just me? There was a while where I couldn’t go to sleep without having certain YouTube videos on a repeated playlist. They brought me comfort from, how I had originally discovered them. Now-a-days, I still tune in whenever my favorite vloggers post, whenever I can watch them. Compared to, watching them on loop with no sense or urgency for anything else I should do. Once this faze pasted, I knew I was a few steps forward in walking towards healing and independence. In that order.

While lately, I have been the happiest I have ever imagined. As well as coming to terms that dating exclusively is just not in my deck of cards at the moment. The fact that I found myself as perplexed as I was tonight over the fact that I couldn’t find immediate or short finding comfort from a memory with someone else, reminded me why, I am choosing to stay single for awhile. It is completely normal for a single human of either sex to feel lonely at times- the best way to curve that negative feeling is remembering that you are exactly where you should be in this moment, for a reason. We all have the people, choices and opportunities in this moment due to the choices that have lead us here. As well of the choices and actions of others. I also recognize that this mentality is easily carried by those who believe that life hands you what you need when you need it. I just hope that my readers take comfort in the fact, that someone like me, who holds no faith in religion, and even less in humanity, that the universe has always been there for me.

Where Is She Coming From?

Her eyes,
Widen at a subject that she wishes she could just forget.
Her neck,
Her pulse raises,
After every text she gets.

All we do is lie,
All we do is think of the feelings that we hide,
All to protect our made up pride.

California was never meant for me to call home,
California was never supposed to be home,
Even after I saw the glisten in your eyes after you would listen.

His laugh traces down her each one of her vertebrae,
As she’s climbing her way up from the hurricane they both put her in.
There are days if she questions if she will win.

Her mother is in the wind.
Her mother gives her the waves of strength to climb harder and longer.
She remembers she is her mothers daughter.

All we do is climb,
All we do is try and avoid the cracks that was suck us through, as if we were made out of slime.
All we do is…

California was never home for her,
Cali was not meant for a girl of her wisdom and standard.

There’s a place deep down in Stanford,
Where a girl lives behind books.
She dreams of all her accomplishments.
That seems so attractive…

What if I told you I would break your heart?
What if I told you I past demons that made me mean?
What if I told you I had that my past has to power to rip your mind apart?
That is why solitude fits me like a glove,
What if I told you I was just bad at love?

Maybe you should stop before you start.
Maybe you could see that I’m just too young to love…

You ought to know where this is coming from,
I stood alone while I watched my home burn to the ground.
All of the pieces were burned and gone.
Do you see where I’m coming from?

What if I said I was built on carelessness and crumbs?
What if I told you that I once loved a substance that would make me feel so numb?
What if I told you, I would be gone before you…

You out to know where this is coming from,
I saw my home burn and gone,
I was so, so young.
Do you know what it’s like to be without a home?
You, he or him couldn’t turn me away from the blows you all took at me.
When your so alone,

No one knows where you are coming from.

The Princess and The Yellow Brick Road

Don’t think I don’t remember the pain that embedded itself into every one of my membranes.

Don’t think that I still have to shut off my head because certain memories sound like a shot gun instead.

Don’t think I don’t have those intimate evenings that flash themselves so vividly, it feels like some nights I’m still in your bed.

All those messages unanswered,

Might have been unread.

Should I inform you on how badly my body bled.

Physically, I needn’t state it, obviously.

Internally, from all those words that you said.

Or should I say screamed?

Flash forward to present day and I can honestly thank you for teaching me my strengths.

I’ve been through hell and back,

But what the hell was one more trip?

There were to many unfortunate reminders of the way you could only grab my hips.

Bruise my lip.

Remember when I showed you to unlock that trick?

With all rhymes aside,

I for a awhile had already decided to grow from an experience that was paved as a beautiful yellow brick road.

I thought I had kissed a prince but now I see he was nothing but a rotten toad.

Now I am a woman of her own,

That paves her own road.

And while at times it gets lonely and scary,

I am thank for all the

Clarity.

My Eating Disorder Story: Introduction

Being Anorexic,
Is like being sick,
For an entire lifetime.
Being diagnosed should be considered a mental crime.
To feel as though you must measure your;
Calories
Bites
Chews
Waste
Collarbones
Being an Anorexic makes you so, so sick.
Physically:
You always feel like you failed if you eat anything else besides a few pieces of kale.
You have no energy.
Vertigo is a bitch that comes with it.
Ketones.
Oh, the goddamn ketones.
Ketones are a lovely cell that your body produces
That essentially eat you alive,
To keep you alive.
From the inside out.
I remember walking into the sterile smelling,
Metal reflecting,
Treatment bathroom.
Unbuttoning my loosely sized double zero jeans,
I caught a glance at myself in the mirror.
I thought I looked beautiful, at that moment.
I put the small plastic cup between my legs,
Not expecting to receive the rock bottom news that would choke me.

The emotion and mental haze that being Anorexic brings,
Equates to the pain of a billion wasp stings.
From lack of food intake, your emotions are all over the place. But usually, lower than average.
You flare with anger when you have your own expectation and image of pretty, but then get told “you are too skinny,” from a boy.
You are paranoid that even drinking a diet soda will make you bloated, and everyone will see you like a cow.
The anchor plunge rush when you see in your jaded eyes “how MUCH you weigh.”
What if scales could read and tell us, how little we weigh?
But how is that possible, when I used to step on a scale:
89,
84,
76,
73,
You get the picture.

I by no means want to encourage what an Anorexic would consider being “the pros” of having this ungodly disorder brings, but for educational purposes, I will list them.
You feel a sense of euphoria, almost a high when your hunger pain passes.
Then not only do you feel accomplished for getting through that stomach-being-put-into-a-cheesegrater-feeling
You smirk at the accomplishment that you are getting smaller
You feel confident in yourself. For things such as hip and collar bones are supposedly attractive when they are protruded.
Though now that it is 2018, and sayings such as “thick thighs save lives” are being tossed around- it’s not like the earlier to mid-2000’s where being skinny was the most desired body in society.
It is now present day, and before I tell the tale of how I made the number on my scale raise,
I must put out a message,
That I am writing this as a lesson.
I hope you find my story, inspirational and helpful.

The Doctors all told me that Anorexia is a choice.
For someone that spent thousands of dollars and hours becoming an expert,
I facepalm myself, mentally,
Every time I think back to the day I was diagnosed.
Those rooms all smell the same.
Whether it was the
Lobby
Exam room
Doctors office
I even remember what I was wearing on this dark day.
Isn’t it fascinating how your mind can push back or tuck away specific memories?
But then,
We all have those few
That can be remembered so vividly.
Even when, we don’t want to remember.

After taking what felt like a million tests,
From mental to physical health examinations,
Gave my doctors the determination to make an accusation,
That
I
Was
Anorexic.
And that’s basically exactly how it happened.
I had just gone to my doctor for a physical to get cleared for the swim team.
Little did I know,
I would not only be swimming in my team’s pool,
But also an ocean of my own.
My first road to recovery.
I remember;
Being led into a small office that smelled like all the rest.
It was dimly lighted,
With bland art on the walls,
And carpet that would make any modern-day designer puke.
My father and myself were placed in wooden chairs with cotton cushions that felt as though no one had ever sat in them before,
As if no one had ever sobbed their eyes out from the news that blew a patients mind.
And it was my time.
Doc walks in;
“Julia…Julia, Julia, little….beautiful Julia.”
I looked at her with my big emerald eyes.
“What?”, I thought to myself.
“Am I dying?”.
Truthfully, I was.
“Julia-Katherine…” (she used my full name, I knew I was in trouble)
“You are Anorexic.”
She labeled me so quickly.
She marked my so vastly.
She gave me a label that will forever stick with me.
“What…what do you mean?”, I scoffed.
“Ms. Katherine, you have Anorexia-Nervosa.”
“You are fucking crazy.”
(Yes, I really said that and have said worse to my doctors)
“I eat…until…I’m full.”, I protested.
“Like any normal person.”
How dare someone, let alone a doctor, who has only known me for about an hour
Tell me something that I still to this day have a hard time believing.
In a way.
That is just my microscopic ego comes into play. (i.e., I don’t believe in egos, for myself at least)
Is this why psychology as a subject, as a field, was invented?
To give a term that will scab, scar- but never fully heal, to who I am?
Where did society come up with the symptoms of Anorexia?
Where the fuck did the term, Anorexia Nervosa even derive from?

Doc shook her head and put her hand on mine.
She informed me on my:
-High key-tone count
-Extremely low BMI
-Surprisingly still semi-strong heart, that was running in the potential of dying as it did so quickly develop
I sat there in that wooden handled, cotton cushion chair.
I saw what she meant,
Looking at everything with new eyes from my fingernails and hair, seeing for the first time how they and so much more of me, physically were brittle, bent and just about spent.
I crossed my legs so tightly, hoping they would look a bit bigger, maybe only slightly.

There are just not enough pages in this world,
Not enough ink any in a billion pens,
And too many thoughts in my head,
To explain
The dehumanizing feeling
I received,
And had to grieve,
That I was given a label,
Which I never thought of,
Or would even consider would be present or welcomed in my life.

The rest of that visit was visualized in grey.
Giving me a recovery plan and schedule,
Down to what I would eat,
Six times,
All and every day.
Until I would weigh in at a weight that would make everyone smile.
Until I would be able to eat everything off my plate, though little did I know, that wouldn’t come for a while.
This all seemed so so vile
In my very juvenile mind.
I didn’t realize that on this day I was supposed to get a sports physical,
That I would be declined
Confined,
And denied,
So
Many
Experiences
In
My
Life.
I knew one thing;
It was time to fight.

To be continued….

Girl On Fire

Just one kiss,

And you’ll be hooked to her fire.

Its an experience that can’t compare,

Too any drug you may think gets you higher.

She is art,

She may be ripped at every edge,

But shes a masterpiece.

She has no idea the chaos she causes,

But it always turns out to be the most beautiful chaos one will ever see.

Just one spark and she can bring anyone back to life.

Just wait and see….

When she takes flight there’s no one there to stop her.

Her ashes are burning,

Her ashes are smoking.

There’s no where for her to hide.

In this fire that burns inside her it ignites a starless night sky.

Even though shes on her own,

She knows shes never on her own.

There’s two bodies in the sky,

That look down and produce her light,

That she calls her own.

So here’s a poem from her heart,

There is no such thing as home sweet home,

For she knows that her trauma is how she has grown.

She questions why her reflection looks like a complicated objection.

Her heart needs to be free,

Too fly.

It burns,

With the need to know,

The reason why;

She was held under a fist, knife, and body.

She once used to run and hide until her memories faded away.

But she realized that she needn’t waste her genius mind.

As a writer,

Shes an automatic fighter.

She told them all to stick it.

Shes burned since she was born,

She only cries a little bit before she dries her eyes,

Because this woman on fire isn’t a little girl anymore.

Chemical Cocktails

Its interesting that the only interest in early twenty teens is experimenting with brain chemistry.

I haven’t seen some of you sober for more than a week.

That just makes you look weak.

Let me speak,

I know what its like to get a whiff of a toxic antidote,

Even when you fuck with coke, it won’t make you stay woke.

Even if all you do is toke, you still look like a joke.

Its interesting the way how I see things,

Everyone feels the need to pop out a baby or be given a ring.

What happened to being in our twenties?

What happened to discovering ourselves?

I’ve been the most independent I have ever been in my entire life;

Which makes me think,

“Shit, I don’t want to be anyone’s wife”.

But that’s just a 21 year old me thought.

Love felt like his knife to my throat,

He fucked everyone but me,

So I know he thought of us as a joke.

And when he left me on the concrete floor,

Cold New Years night,

I don’t want this shit anymore.

You spat in my face I’m a whore-

When really I hit my books to help me soar.

You lied to me like a religion,

But wouldn’t lie with me unless I gave you Christian Dior.

But you still called me a whore?

What a mother fucking bore.

You think you are better now?

Honey, you are behind bars,

You only say that cause I’m not around.

I got tired being projected as a clown, my frown used to hold to pieces gravel you smeared my face into.

There’s nothing that you can undo.

You never did,

Never will,

Have a clue.

I’m working on an empire that needn’t the burden of a bloodsucking vampire.

I tire of childish games, they are so lame now-a-days.

While some of my generation is stuck in play; I’m in a hyper-drive to improve my life.

A word of advise,

Once you stop viewing the worlds opinions, you stop being a minion.

It’s independent.

It’s scary,

Only a first.

But,

You realize,

You quench a thirst for independence and freedom,

Some, may have not ever realized they needed.

Just a Little Life Update

Hey Readers,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I know there are some of you that are probably thankful for my break. Not blasting my blog posts into your social media feed and what not. But, as I promised, I am back.

Lately life has seemed to be going by so fast. There are days that I feel don’t even feel real to me. Carrying around as much responsibility that I have on my shoulders these days has been one of the most surreal feelings I have ever experienced. And the thing is, it won’t go away, it will only go on. When you suddenly become the head of a house, the power is at first riveting. Soon after, it becomes exhausting. I am twenty-one years old and I am already living an adult life. Who would have ever figured, for the person that I am, that I could handle it all? But I am yet another hopeful example; that human nature is capable of change.

For I have had to change for not only myself personally, but also for my future. I cannot begin the explain the loss that 2018 has brought onto me. My first loss (though a chosen one) was in early January. Followed by March, and then April. I am incredibly impressed at my will physically to not just fall to floor screaming and crying. There was once a time in my life that that would be how I would resolve my emotions. I feel as though at this point I have endured so much loss that my body is just used to it. Its been barely two months and I still haven’t broken down yet. Will I ever?

On a more positive note, I have applied to a few major universities and have already been accepted into John Hopkins! I was offered a full ride into their Philosophy program. How crazy is that? I am now just waiting on Brown, Yale and NYU. My hopes are looking quite high from what my advisers tell me.

I have received support in these last few months. But I still can’t help but feel as though I am alone in this world, now, more than ever. I am wondering if this is only a temporary feeling. Because I find myself hugging my pillows a bit tighter than usual. I’m tired of missing. I’m tired of feeling like I am not missed. I am more machine than human lately. My friends are what make me smile the most. But even when I have a room full of them, I still find myself alone in my mind. Thanks, Halsey, for that line.

I will be resuming posting every Monday. To be honest, I missed my blog, very much. If you guys have any ideas or topics you would like me to write about, please let me know.

XO,

Julia Katherine

Final Generation: Recall

Is it too much to ask to live in a world where everybody can be themselves freely? The little world that I have created in my head is my sanctuary. A place so pure; pure and kind, any person or creature trans, queer, gay or bisexual, are welcomed to romp burden free of masking their true colors. The current state of my physical reality is atrocious. Of all the burdens my physical world already carried, it leaves me so confused as to why my government decided to archaically repress relationships and intimate relations with members of the Queer community. It is selfish to keep the intoxicating experience of love and passion away from an individual community, or anyone for that matter. It’s inhumane. We as human beings are not biologically or neurologically built to comfortably live an altered lifestyle, suppressing any part of what makes us who we are, just to abide by society’s definition of what’s “right.” Falling in love doesn’t always mean it has to be done a right way. No book, belief or opinion should matter or dictate anyone’s choices on how they want to live their life, as well as with who. Having to be trapped in a mental cage and wear a mask every day is its form of torture. Eventually, we start to break. It starts with a few cracks, like a pebble hitting the windshield of a car, and then one day an unexpected speed bump comes along, and we shatter. Frank Bidart wrote it best:
Lie to yourself about this and you will
forever lie about everything.
Everybody already knows everything
so you can
lie to them. That’s what they want.
But lie to yourself, what you will
lose is yourself. Then you
turn into them.

That’s what happened to my world. Rightfully so, the warriors of the Queer community reached their breaking point with the Breeder operated “government” system- and how the public endorsed their corruptions. That hatred between the Hetero’s and the Queer’s boiled over into a hell born war. The amount of blood that was shed between these two groups was ungodly. This was right before I came into the world and I am a part of the outcome or, “solution” as the leaders projected. An inhumane agreement to prevent any future conflict that might trigger another battle and also make sure we don’t kill off the human race. A law was passed prohibiting any and all natural human reproduction. You may be wondering, my dear reader, how there is still a human population left, and how on the Government’s green Earth is it possible for a democracy to take over the organic regulation that is sex? Let me first explain the process in which I and the rest of Generation 00 were concocted. Generation 00 was the first successful era of humans to be fabricated in test tubes. These “test tube babies” are genetically modified not to carry gametes, the human sex cell and live out their utero state inside a vile for nine months. Like a timer going off for Thanksgiving turkey, once the fetus is fully developed the prospective parents receive an alert via text message or email that their bundle of matured cells is done baking and ready for pick up. The most disgusting part about this; parents (or, I like to call them buyers) can build their perfect spawn. Technology has gotten so advanced after you sign all the paperwork and shovel out thousands of dollars. The couple is then taken separately to the lab to have their sperm and egg extracted. Once that process is completed, and your specimen is correctly mixed up, you are presented with your impending baby’s genes. Right there in front of you are the chromosome, microfiber detail to what their child would be. When in the old days, one of the biggest highlights of a pregnant couple is the wanderlust of what it’ll look like. The doctor then helps you thread the future fetus into a nice, unoriginal meat sack, that is technically human. Perfectly biologically modified, minus the gametes cells. There have been rumors of Generation 01 will be another preliminary trial for doctors are wanting to remove the part of the hypothalamus that is linked to the human primitive sex drive. The reasoning behind this demented theory is that because people are now being manufactured, there is now a one in a million chance for a test tube fetus to be gay. One in a million fucking chance of being different. How screwed up is that? I have had many mental battles with myself trying to find the root of what caused humanity to become so entitled to being superior over another. The Breeders are lucky it happened this way by not being straight the outcasted sexuality. But since we are only human, that one in a million chance happened to land on me.

My name is Rowan, I am sixteen years old, and I am a gay female living in a genetically modified world of straight, or what I like to call, blank people. This is not me slandering Breeders; I use the word “blank” because in a time where the entire human population is assembled like dolls that all look the same, making us predictable. Personally, I believe that one who lives a predictable life does not live at all. What the Queer warhead didn’t realize was that the breeders received the better end of this deal, that everyone would now be exactly like them. I have yet to meet another person who sexuality isn’t like everyone else’s. And with how slim the chances are of the outcome, I doubt in this lifetime I will meet someone like me. What bothers me the most about the state of my world is the fact that humanity is deprived of the intoxicating feeling of lust. The world I see has an empty void where excitement and passion used to be. Taking away the main purpose of sex to prevent humanity from killing itself? Ridiculous. I am thankful for my mother, who is a millennial, the last generation before the government hit the restart button on humanity, she tells me her world was on it’s way to holding stable equality between the Breeders and the Heteros. And that humanity is now dull and colorless, for most of us are now the same. While humans are still capable of finding love (or tolerance I should say) and a mate to settle basic emotional needs, when two people get together it isn’t the same as it once was. I am lucky both of my parents met and had a connection long before everything turned to shit. For I see the looks of the parents of my friends, and it is nothing to what they have.
The place inside my head is much like how the universe used to be. I am a one in a million biological mistake. I see this as a blessing in disguise. I was generated to be put on this planet called Earth to end this archaic production. I will remind the world of the magic that lies in compassion and acceptance in my lifetime. I strive to bring back the exhilarating lust for life that once fueled the human soul and captivated millions of hearts. Dear reader, whether you identify as straight, transgender, gay, pansexual, A-sexual, bisexual, transgender, you are perfect. Learn something from my story, separation and hatred almost wiped out the human race. Why not attempt to come together in love? I cannot be the only one in this galaxy which is drained of waking up every day to the same bland society. I have not lost hope in the human abilities of an adjustment for positive change. I feel as though humanity needs to prioritize finding balance. As a species and individually. Balance creates peace, and peace brings harmony to not only the world but also the human race.

Mother’s Daughter

I’ve watched my mother kill herself a little more each day.

I’m not mad at her,

All the time.

Mommy, please get up…

I hear a fifteen year old me say in hushed tears;

Drunk

Diabetic,

Cancerous,

Food addict.

Growing up I heard my parents scream and mom would slam the door behind her as she would head to the nearest place she could get a big mac, because fighting with my dad over that big slap across my face, was always so tragic.

My mother and I had much in common, like mothers and daughters do, I’ll just list a few…

1. We both had eating disorders, just opposite ends.

2. We were both born in August.

3. We can both be so blind to destruction if it comforts or shields us away from a problem. Whether at the bottom of a B.K or Bacardi bottle, or for me at a time, a cocaine baggie.

I stopped.

For my poison was killing me faster,

And I thought to myself, my parents don’t want to find my body laid out dead and plastered.

My father would harp on me for my immortal immaturity.

When I got sober I found clarity.

Mom, can you join me?

Nah,

See,

Deep depression and physical illness is the realist and the coldest killer. I just wish she knew that I wanted to save her.

Monkey see, monkey do,

Mama doesn’t give a fuck of her own life, why should I?

Because a daughter is supposed to look up to her mother, and I once did so brightly,

But so quietly she made her exit,

Mama, why?

I know some of it you couldn’t have helped but isn’t your daughter worth living for?

My floor has been drenched in my tears for all the years I watched this.

Walking out for class, I wish you would just get off your ass.

Your depressed mom? Why didn’t you come to me, just because of all the pain he inflicted on me, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t there.

I just want you to tell me everything, including myself will be okay,

Because these days all I want think about is joining you because my joints ache in heartbreak and there’s no one here to wipe my tears and hush all my fears. This is the hardest thing I have ever been through, past the rapes, drugs and beatings- I just need to hear my mom tell me that I’m her baby girl.

I had a pipe dream that my motivation to get up every day no matter what, would be something that could have helped you out of this rut.

I feel like I’ve been beaten over a hundred times in my gut,

Should I just run, mommy?

I need you to send me a sign because my mind won’t stop looping, and all I think about is watching myself grow wings and come up to you. But I promised you I’d complete all my goals and dreams, but where is my mommy to tell me that shes proud of me?

I didn’t come from you, but I’ll make it clear to every one that I truly did. Maybe not born from your womb, but I grew in your heart, you wanted a baby girl that was as beautiful as art.

I wanted a mom who’d fight to stay because her daughter was worth it.

Please take this feeling of being lost and scared away,

I want to see the sunshine on the next day.

Mama,

I miss you more every minute of every day, you don’t know how hard this is without you.

How to Heal From Heartbreak In Fourteen Days

Heartbreak, heartache, whatever you want to call it, it’s an unpleasant life quake. But, it happens to almost all of us. Recently, I had just undergone the grieving period of removing affectionate feelings away from someone who I used to look at and see beauty; now I just see pathetic. In my case, I never fully explained to the other person just how I felt. Except in probably one of the best poems I have ever written, that was given to him on Christmas. But he’s a smart one; I’m sure he could just tell by the way I used to look at him.
In my journey to get back to me, I decided to write down the things that helped me find myself again. And hopefully, these tips can help you, my dear readers, to mend from the gravel grasp of heartbreak.

Play Those Sad Songs. You need to let it out.

We all have our favorite sad songs that sing lyrics you wish you could scream in that assholes face. I found myself avoiding sad songs on my playlist, for I hated the thought that the tears I would shed, would be over a shithead. But, one day, I pulled into my driveway. I decided that this was the day I would let those songs play. And I did. The tears following were gruesome. I feel as though the realist tears that fall are the most cleansing. It is scary crying alone. But crying is scientifically proven to make you feel better; it’s a release. So, put on whatever is on your sad girl playlist, grab a pillow, find your comfort place; you’ll feel so much better the following day.
Here’s a list of my personal favorites:
River- Ed Sheeran, Eminem
Crowded Places- Banks
Medicine, Youth- Daughter
Sorry- Halsey
Fly Away; Mama Always Told Me- G- Eazy

2. Make Yourself or Your Space Over
This has to be one of the most important tips I could give. For after I separated ways with my lover, I hated going into my room, more than ever before. I couldn’t comfortably sleep without wanting to cry myself there, knowing that he was the last one to lie there in my body. Besides my bed, I would look around and see all the places within my white walled room- where we would crack beers and smiles. But I also saw the last time we were in my room together; it was so god damn vile. I just got my beautiful natural hair color back, so I wasn’t interested in coloring my hair. So, I did the next best thing. I went to IKEA. Picked up new furniture, new sheets, and comforter, untouched by any boy. I now find myself sleeping so much more peacefully. I also advise doing this with the mentality that it’s for YOU.

3. Get Out Of Your University Sweatshirt and Grab Some Heels
Ladies, I can’t tell you imperative this is. A symptom of depression is a lack of care in hygiene. And no, I didn’t go four days without showering. But I found myself just not giving a shit about what I looked like, and I am woman who takes pride in her fashion, but while going through heartbreak- it didn’t matter. I resided in a baggie hoodie I could hide my face in when I felt random tears rushing in. Aren’t those the worst? I’m almost certain that I went through all of my leggings and sweatpants in a matter of days. My friends didn’t even recognize me walking (I always wear heels) at one point. That’s when they realized I was seriously not okay. As much as you can, try to fight the feelings of just wanting a fluffy blanket and a baggie shirt. Get your ass out of bed, take a hot shower and make yourself up. I promise, getting out of bed is the hardest part. You’ll want to do anything you can that doesn’t involve just sitting around binge watching YouTube because let’s be real, videos can’t fully distract yourself from that distaste that was spat hurtfully from him to your face. It doesn’t matter if you have a place to be or not, make yourself up. Massage your own body with lotion, do a face mask. You are relearning how to care for yourself after the X amount of time you spent with that stupid boy. (or girl) This was something that hugely helped me. Now, I’m back to everyone in the halls turning their head as they hear me coming. 🙂

4. Don’t Isolate Yourself
See the title of this next tip? Follow it. Follow it. Follow it. I am notoriously known for locking myself away to the world so that no one can see me cry. Especially over a guy, I just feel so humiliated. But this is why we have friends. I can’t even begin the express how thankful I am for my best friend coming over, even when I had denied her company. I just didn’t want her to have to hear me cry for the same reasons as the why I felt the way I did. But, that’s what best friends are for. Not to mention, if she sees me cry over anyone, let alone a boy who broke me, like a bully breaking another child’s toy; well, I just hope none of my ex’s encounter her. But in all seriousness, we are human. As communal creatures, coming together during times of sadness is part of what builds up back up to who we are. I even found this time to seek comfort in my parents. As much I can, given my personal family life. But even that helped. I am always seen as the bubbly, loud, spunky little Irish lass, which is another reason why I didn’t want to come out of my room unless it was for class. Having people see me so sad, over a breakup? Fucking pathetic. I’ve sat in class with tears streaming down my face from much, much worse. But, it took my best friend to physically drag me out of bed for me to start this tip. I am oh, so, thankful for her.

5. Get Yourself Some Sex Toys
Get your best friend and make a run to the mall. It’s time to get yourself a vibrator. I say this for the girls who find themselves wanting to rebound. I have intimacy issues, so I have never been one to jump to the next one after a breakup. Hell, it took me almost a year to spend more than twenty-minutes with this last one. Or if you miss the good dick, whatever your reason is, get a jackrabbit dildo and let yourself have it. Pleasuring yourself not only gets yourself more in touch with yourself (Ha, masturbating puns) but it’s a healthier way to get over your ex. Rebounding not only looks bad on your part, but it’s also unfair to whoever it would be. Misplacing feelings and projecting is one of the worst things you can do to anyone, in my opinion. Not to mention, your next partner will be more than pleased to see how intuitive you are with your sexuality. A man loves a woman who knows what she wants.

Breaking up sucks. And you can’t force someone to stay with you. No matter how hopeful you once were in the glimmer that could have been with him, it’s gone. Forever? Eh, who knows. But for now, it is time for you to grieve. But grieve with the goal of getting better. For I know it is so easy to live in sorrow for what feels like forever. These were five steps I found that helped me get through the woods in just fourteen days. The truth of the matter is, we are born to die and only have ourselves for eternity. Feel your feelings; they are valid. No matter how many names he called you. Just ask yourself, from those, what did he gain? Just know, it gets better.

Xo,

Julia Katherine

Survivor

I am thankful.
I am thankful to be adopted.
I am thankful to be adopted by my parents because I would not have the roof over my head that I have had my entire life.
I am thankful to be adopted because I would not have gone to England as an infant,
Or see my fingerprint left on the window of many window airplane seats.
I will always repeat this,
For this is a lesson of appreciation that keeps me believing.

I wish to be something above and beyond in this world,
And though I am so very talented about the writing of the times life has sent me on a
Traumatic,
Heartbreaking,
Bruising,
Whirl-
I am strong enough to twirl a suffocating whirlwind into a 180-degree twirl.

Survivors work harder.
Split through,
My healing skin,
Tells me there’s more to life than just living.
But I would rather spending my time writing and giving.
For from that slice I realized I’m not just a sexual device, and whom I need to get my justice from.
So, run.
For I no longer have a fear of guns,
Both physically and mentally,
Because really,
How many times could I put myself on trial?
Not for this long of a while,
Remember what I said about being a survivor?

So I thank you,
Mom and Dad for teaching what it means to be truly glad.
For the musk that haunts our days now never has or will collide with most of my childhood days.
And I believe even the darkest childhood and adult days can be glazed with the saying that the glass is half full.

For if we were all meant to be who was being talked about,
All of humanity would be a monstrosity.
And I am used to people from all over this goddamn town using me as a topic conversation that usually doesn’t involve pity. Well, congrats to the one who are truly brats.

Thank you,
Mom and Dad,
For though there are things in your lives that you regret impression your children,
Just know I have knowledge of those problems and have learned to learn from them properly,
Because in the end,
I cannot mend what is not mine.
I am forever thankful both of you said,
This
Child
Is
Mine.

Menus Ludos

Oh, memories replaying memories of you and me,
We didn’t last a year.
We’re just a box of souvenirs,
Maybe.

You remember screenshotting pictures of my Instagram,
Because I looked like such a gentle lamb.
You were looking for someone to practice and play with during summer days,
And we managed to keep it wet that entire summer.
But what a bummer when you decided to give into all the hummer of who I used to be rumored to be.

You caught everything I went through,
And though I will never be new to you;
You caught everything I threw at you.

I’m a bad bitch,
But your mind has me condemned as a witch.
For I no longer wish to prove my innocence to someone who attempted to put a weak variable vex of who I am.
And I’m the one you won’t forget, and probably regret.
Trust me I don’t want to be friends with someone who has a control complex.

Though memories fade you still may think of me during some days;
You’ll see my dark days posted on replay.
“Is she okay, maybe I should text her and say hey”.
You don’t care my chest will be split open for surgery I hope not encounter on any more of days.

You caught all the things I threw away.
I leave that now bitter birthday card I made,
Cause,
We’re nothing but souvenirs.

Maybe I’m the one the blame.

This meant more to you than it did to me,
I was filled with doubt, but you believed that I could revive from all the fights I had endured.

Maybe you were just too nice to me,
I think it took me way too long to leave.
But on that, we both feel the same.

Oh,
One,
Two,
Three,
Four,
I know how a fairy tale goes.

Maybe I wanted you to see me and believe that actions could be proven, but once we felt the same,
You said I was the one to blame.

You liked me when I walked around on the low, unnoticed.
When I was coming off of a something, I used as much as my electronic device.
Now you gotta deal with a glitch on your shoulder,
I recently heard a song that sang me relevant lyrics,
“Fuck with a goddess, and you get a little colder”.

Am I still the one to entirely blame?

Boy don’t hurt your brain on struggling to compute of what you’d want to say,
What did your facts for your data did gain from calling me all those names?
I’ve analyzed all the things that I’m sure that you have cried in fear that I lied.
I got into Stanford,
I’m smart enough to see all of the incriminating facts implied on myself.

I’ll bring it down,
I’ll bring it on,
Till the rise of dawn,
Because this what it feels like now;
I have never been accused of being such a heartless clown by someone who never used to frown at the sight of me.
There was a point you couldn’t sleep because of me,
And I don’t doubt that’s what’s still happening,

This is what it feels like.
Because this is getting old.

All of our words have been cursed with dishonesty.
Take it from the girl who had to learn how to build a heart made of armor.
You were always so bold while you watched me moan.

You tried to hide; I can see that you don’t see me.
Take it from the girl you used to take it in; you will get some bad karma-
I can see that you just wanted me cold.

We were nothing but Gemini feed,
And I would have to pay to lead you to my legal leads,
You always said to spend my money carefully.
But the blood that I had bled on the day I wanted myself dead from allegations that swam around in my head,
Swarming me with dread,
Lead me to no longer put my head on having to focus on proving myself innocent to multiple men.

So this is the end.

Nightmare Passing

What I saw is true,
That if I couldn’t screw,
You would have never manipulated yourself into my bedroom.
I had been standing there for two years
And I hate that I question why I should have gone with the right thing but got caught in the left hook of your thorn ridden wing.
A disaster passed down to that guy who never lied.

Oh, do you see me now?

Better run for cover.
Cause my addiction to you was just another contradiction to my life’s confusion.
And I used to say I would be scared to walk away,
In fear I couldn’t find other muse’s that knew me and my music as well as I thought you did.
Then I found someone who can’t listen to Halsey without me getting stuck in their head.
You claim that every time you took me in, took my hand,
It felt like you were being reprimanded.

Do you see me now?

A self-medicated
Mentally blocked.
Lock.
When I came through, you were dark blue,
And all I did was try to take care of you
Even when I had been spit up and chewed by you.
Now I hate the color blue.

You try now to compensate for that time and “regretful” mind state.
And I’m just Anna on the train tracks for all that you’d give a rats ass.
But then I looked back as she did at those train tracks and saw my “dark world.”
As a story arch.
I had to get away,
You beat me down into the color gray,
Why is still such a mystery that my attention was redirected when I was a stray?

Do you see me now?

Now tell me what you want from me.
I think you need someone who isn’t a lead-
A weaker girl?
Because a woman knows where her stance is-
This story will be one of me growing strong.
Because you are so,
So,
So,
SO
Wrong.
But you refuse to listen to my song of justice.
To be honest,
You were just a placebo.
I might as well have been your depot.

I put you on a pedestal and gave you the throne.
But you take pride in bloody eyes,
You always liked it when I cried.
Is that why you lied with her and,
Too me?

I can hear resentment in your tone,
You thought I’d never make it on my own.
You made an effort,
But nothing can last forever,
We’re such pessimists.
You left for the hell of it.
And when you realized I laid with brown eyes who holds no physical expectation over me, except to see me smiling over him-
He even helped my body not to be so slim.
He has never laid an unwanted hand on my limbs.

I asked you once,
What do you want,
And I need to know.
But that ego runs wild,
You said I got your beatings because I acted like a child.
You cheated on me so why are you still haunting me.

My memory is bated from your loneliness,
That is from childhood emptiness.

You won’t come back.
You aren’t anything but slack.
And I don’t waste my wishes anymore-
To wish that,
You thought of me more.

You will get yours,
Trust me.
I have many open author doors.
Didn’t I tell you,
You fuck with a writer,
And I will put you in my words,
Right here.

Still in love with fashion,
Trying to be Hugh Heffner.
When he hurts a fire sign,
He didn’t think he would get burned.
Poor little boy,
Cries his psychotic eyes out on the stand,
It’s all part of a show.

I’ve always wondered why can’t you just leave me alone?

Timor Luman Metus

This is a story of how an astronomers son fell in love with the moon goddess. Ever since he was a boy, Ryan Masters had been captivated by the night sky and all it beholds. Ryan’s father said there were a million stars in the universe, but only one moon. When saying this, Ryan’s father was referring to his late mother. Who had been said to hold all of the moon’s phases in her eyes and soul. Ryan’s mother passed away during his birth, which made his relationship with his father a rough one. For Mr. Master’s claimed he could no longer see the moon in all of its glory since the day, his beloved passed. Leaving a star child in his care, that had every essence of his mother.
Growing up Ryan’s father had warned him never to fall in love. He would tell young Ryan, “Falling in love is much like a meteor shower. It is captivating, beautiful and catastrophic all put together”. Since he could remember, Ryan Masters swore never to fall in love. The guilt and pain he felt of losing his mother during his birth had haunted him heavily for years. Ryan followed in his father’s footsteps in becoming an astronomer, hoping that one day he’d be able to see his mother for the first time in the vast night sky. Homeschooled, Ryan took every precaution he could never to develop an affection for anyone. He never wanted to experience the pain his father endured his entire life after losing his moon and stars.
One cold February night, Ryan Gilligan Masters hiked to the top of Mount Diablo to set up his telescope to see the full moon that came on this night. Each time he hiked his lonely self up to the top of the mountain, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what the gentle caress of a woman felt like. Was he incapable of being loved, or incapable of loving, he internally battled. This night, in particular, Ryan felt something inside of him that he never had before, hope. But for what? He was only doing his usual routine and study during yet another full moon.
After Ryan had reached his usual spot and set up- he waited. Waited for a sign pointing to him of what triggered this sensation of hope. He watched the glorious moon rise to its highest point in the night sky. Peering through his telescope- there it was. There she was. The moon looked as it normally did this night. Ryan took a seat on the wet grassy area surrounding his set up. Closing his eyes, he breathed deep. “I miss you, mom,” he whispered to himself. Suddenly, there was a flash of light that started beaming from the moon. Ryan shot up and ran to his telescope. “What in the world…”, He questioned. He zoomed onto the moon, and there was a light…that was falling from the moon. What could this be? Ryan frantically ran to his computer and started to chart and study possible and logical reasoning as to why there was a light falling from the moon, rapidly, and…towards him. Young Masters backed up from his telescope. Breathing so heavily, his breath looked like the smoke from a cigarette. “What the fuck! What the fuck! What the FUCK!”, Ryan frantically shouted. The light was falling so fast and so close to him. A light started to cast from whatever mystery was falling towards him. It was bright. Brighter than any neon color or new light bulb. Painfully protecting his eyes, Ryan Masters was sure he would die that night.
The light peering down at him was fifty feet from him when its warp speed spastically became slower. Ryan peaked one eye and noticed a figure he couldn’t ultimately make out, but that was not a meteor or unknown space mass, as he had thought. The light was becoming dimmer as well. Ryan soon realized, this was a person- human? Twenty feet above him he caught a glimpse of a silhouette, of a woman! He started to panic. “Shit, shit shit- Ryan catch her!”, He thought to himself. And he did.
The light had ceased completely. Ryan Masters looked up and saw what was hurtling toward him. She was a woman. A…beautiful woman. Ryan widened his eyes to see examine every detail of the armful he held. She was small, pale. She had hair that had to go down to at least her back. Her hair was red. A red so romantic it put a million red rose petals to shame. Ryan leaned down to her chest to make sure she was breathing. Cold as ice, she was breathing. She was captivating, fascinating, she was…she was naked. “Oh SHIT Ry, don’t be a creep!” he panicked under his breath. He took the blanket that was once his mothers and draped it over the body of this mysterious woman.
She opened her eyes. They were the purest green Ryan had ever seen. Pure, like the calm after a storm. Pure like a blank canvas. Pure like a life without turmoil. They were big. They were beautiful. Ryan had only read stories of love at first sight from his mother’s book collection. The adrenaline that courses through your body at the sight of the one body you want forever in every way. He couldn’t believe it. Ryan Masters had fallen in love, in a location, he had been researching for years, and no phenomenon had taken place before. In his arms, he held his moon and stars .

Clean

Make love to a couple grams

To empty hands

Make up for a couple sniffs

Curling up, feel so stiff

Waking up

Saying,

Wait

Wait a second

I’m evaporating in front of my eyes

She wants to live today

She wants to listen today

The snow is melting away now

Clarity

The snow is turning into rain

Refreshing

Rain to turns spring,

Clean.

It’s refreshing not to have to

Lean

On a substance,

That made me once so mean.

Clean.

Having to wean myself of cocaine,

Made me realize,

What lane I want to be in life.

 

Because thinking I was a better writer and stronger fighter,

On it,

Was a lie.

Why did I, you may ask?

I saw using at first for fun,

Then a task.

 

But now,

I task.

In my dreams.

Instead of finding ways to scheme.

And my dreams,

Are

 

Beautiful.

Trauma Teachings

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains material of sexual abuse

I find my work is enveloped in an essence of darkness.

We all know that any journey ends when the break of dawn seeps through every crack,

Every crevasse,

Light trickles into the iris’s of my eyes-

Sweet lass,

The best part of being broken,

Shattered glass,

Is picking up the pieces.

I list the things I have lost,

From rape.

I list the ways I was hurt,

From rape.

But,

When was the last time I listed the things I gained from rape;

The things that weren’t swept away:

1. My smile

Oh for a while my smile was not was it can be- what it is today, and what it always should be.

But even while wrongfully under you, him and it,

They were never able to rip it,

Which I know put all their stomachs into a pit-

“Who is this creature, that can recreate her tradgies and become a teacher?”.

I’m still smiling.

While all of you are still lying to yourself,

Its cute to think you could put a flame like me on the shelf.

2. My laugh

I spat in a monsters face and laughed maniacally,

Just like him,

You think you can win?

I cant even feel you trying to force your way in.

For this is my body and mind,

Never yours,

And though the first monsters 21 year old fiance was a bore,

Does not mean I became a 32 year old mans whore.

I laugh in the face of danger,

Which only made them all fill with rage and anger.

My laugh is loud, almost as loud as my immaculate strength.

My laugh comes out at all the right times.

Laughing in the faces of my rapists,

Was the greatest.

3. My writing

Tattoo’d boo you think you could patronize me,

Lets quote Moonlight Madness,

“Aren’t you a fighter?”,

Yes, but more importantly,

I’m

A

Survivor.

Turned

Writer.

Now that is danger.

Now don’t get me wrong,

I have made every single mistake that one could ever possibly make,

I’ve taken, cried and lied,

But as time passed by,

I learned that one of the strongest traits, that I want one day for the entire world to relate;

Forgiveness.

Forgive yourself for events that have happened-

It was never my fault that I was hit, chewed up and pinned-

Because in the end,

I’m still able to look back and say,

Thank you,

For those terrible, inspirational days.

Moonlight Madness

Sweet dreams are made from sober dazzling inseams,

Those seams were once clogged by cocaine fog.


Where are your words, little writer?

He taunted you; “aren’t you a fighter?”.

Has your magic pen run out of ink and power?

Or is it that your mind is in limbo,

Trying to figure out where to go.

Because I can no longer bear the tragedies from evil monsters,

Failed strategies and attempted mental catastrophes.


When I see my mind in a crowded room,

I want to dive in and zoom through.

Be a little loud,

Stand a little proud.

But oh,

Ow.

There go the memories reminding me about those painful mental catastrophes.

Leaving me in a mental sinking sand lot.


I recently heard a song where I was told not to let my crown fall,

But cry if I must.

But I can’t cry,


.

Because how many times can you rewrite the same story?

Before it gets old and boring?


The girl who has eyes made of emeralds and sun ray teardrops that create the golden red ribbons of her hair.  

The emerald glass stained windows into her soul tells her struggles.

But that is not all she is.

A beautiful,

Bundled,

Tattoo’d

Mess.

That has been blessed enough with the riches of life;

Not her fault she’s played in Satan’s strife;

But she saved her own life.

And while prince charming is still on the horizon,

I see him in my dreams-

And we make the most glorious team.

We save the world to make the one we want

A

Better

Place.

That has us laying out under an island moonlight.

Can you grip me that tight?

The way you move my hair from my eyes, feels so right.

Make my body and mind feel so light.

Making love under the covers of the night-


WAKE UP.


You are in reality.

Your tears want to come streaming,

But you choose to scream internally.

Because of how many times you have repeated your bullshit verbally,

Literally,

Nobody wants that.

Why do I feel so lost?

Because sometimes being so gifted,

Is an opportunity cost.


I’d like to lead my life like the boss,

I am.

But,

T

I

M

E

Try me,

I need it,

My time,

Everytime.


Not everything in life is cookies and sunshine;

I have jaded summertime memories,

Faded nightmares from past Decembers,

Broken windows that make me tremor,

That haunt me every night and force me to

Remember

All the dispare.

In 2011 I was

Once a virgin angel who fell from

Heaven.

But thanks to my strong mentality,

I turn my reality

 

Into a worldly heaven.

Never Meant For California

You were drawn to me,

Pretty and smart,

You once,

Multiple times,

called me,

A

Work of art.

I met you in California,

We both know this state is,

And never,

Was,

Home for ya.

I told you that my heart was frozen over.

But that I could still be your lover.

We both sing that lyric of not being able to afford that Rover, and tattoo on someone’s shoulder.

But then I just had to roll over,

Because of the ONE my frozen,

PTSD,

heart took over.

I am so sorry.

My heart is still frozen over,

Maybe forever,

Because I wasn’t used not being run through the gravel.

I miss the miles I used to travel.

It was my choices that had us unravel.

I

Am

So

Sorry.

I’ve been going through phases,

Rewriting phrases,

Mentally running through messed up, terrifying, excruciating,

Mazes.

I’ll

Forever

Be

Sorry

You haven’t seen my new faces,

Because you’ve been happily busy,

And I’m happy for you,

Cause I feel like all I did was screw,

Up,

Your

Days.

This is not the first time I have written about your valuable time;

It’s just the only piece that isn’t in ripped up pieces.

My body was laid out for a willing sacrifice.

Almost three weeks,

I haven’t felt human.

I’m a robotic device.

I’ll

Always

Be

Sorry.

You had to leave.

For four days all I did was weep and feel the physical pain settle,

Into every inch of me.

I’m

So

Sorry.

I met you in California,

This poem probably sounds so familiar.

I wake up again,

Every night,

Drenched in my nightmare tears,

Sweat and regret.

Taking practice not to talk to you about my frets.

Because I am forever in your debt.

You know I don’t regret,

Any choice of mine,

But that one, two, three…

Speaking for myself,

Though this repent is genuine,

Those verbals and labels that I’m still trying to tell myself I am not,

Left me and my confidence,

Conscious,

to rot.

It was a lot.

I was ready to let my body and soul just drop.

But I can’t ‘rightfully’ say that,

Because what I did,

Hit you like a baseball bat.

I’m

So

Sorry.

This was scarring to not only you,

But me too.

But you saw some value,

For knowing each other,

Is

Thankfully,

Graciously,

Appreciatively,

Did not get,

Sucked out.

You think I have no clue of what I put you through,

Oh darling,

I do.

Still sorry.

But you don’t know the pain I endured, because I kept it from you.

So take a note;

Because you don’t know how my skin bled,

Like the ink from my powerful pen.

That though mistakes were made on my end,

I feel like you will never hear me when if or when I ever try to tell you,

That those earlier mentioned verbals,

Made my already difficult healing process,

Get shot through,

A,

Strew,

Of sleepless nights.

I don’t expect this poem to make it right,

But something you still and have always admired in me,

Is

My

Ability

To

Fight.

Though I will admit someone as strong as me,

Is

Currently,

Broken.

The light left in me,

Left me my ability,

That is mutually still admired,

To write.

I hope-

No,

Will,

Find a way to make this 110%

Right.

Because I feel like you don’t see the way I’ve had to fight,

The bite,

That was taken from me,

Mentally,

Physically.

This isn’t metaphysics,

My feelings are as real as the laws of

Physics.

My limits,

Were challenged and push,

From those verbals I so rightfully deserved and took.

But

I’m

Asking

You

To

Look.

I’m so sorry.

Breaking The Habit

When do you honestly like yourself the most?  And when I say, “the most,” I am not just referring to a fun night, that is now a memory on your Instagram. Nor something of substance, or instant gratification of any sort. What is it in life that comes from yourself, that makes you like, or even better, LOVE yourself? Trust me, my readers, I do know, far too well, what it is like to be lost in substance and fast good feelings. Chained to addiction and depression. I am told very often that I am strong, for overcoming my self-inflicted struggles, as well as the ones that were forced upon me- I do not believe that it takes any certain soul, strength or psyche- to break the habit.

Genetics is an unfair gambling game. In the life you live, you can make your own choices- but you cannot choose what you look like, who your family is, or whether or not you’ll develop Huntington’s. Unfortunately winning the “addiction gene” is another attribute we cannot dispute. Though there is no official biological addiction gene- as surgeon Dr. Glen Hansone quotes:

“Just because you are prone to addiction doesn’t mean you’re going to become addicted. It just means you have to be more careful”.

The term heritability now comes into context. It plays a role in what makes us individual as people: the term phenotype is defined as our physical and biochemical appearance. The second function is two more or less describe our personality traits and what makes us, us. Genetic variation: both physically and mentally.  Well, thanks to my mystery of a biological mother, my genetic code happen to win the addiction gene, on many counts. Uppers, downers- you name it, mama probably did it. Including her early days of being pregnant with me; and coping with the adoption, by drinking.

No human needs a  specific gene to be able to fall into the toxic, yet temporarily sensational release that is- not being sober. No human needs a specific gene to be able to catch on that playing with toxic temptations to numb or forget up treacherous, traumatic event- feels so arousing. Almost comforting. This usually takes place when there is a lack of support, that isn’t attempting to help mend together a new void.

I speak of this topic today; in an informative voice. That is a world of choices, be reminded that you are the one who makes them, and who chooses to learn from them after. Addiction is a little harder to grow from, than a bad day or event. Addiction is another part of you. He or she are made up of broken atoms from atomic bombs thrown unwillingly into your life. A quantum ghost of yourself. As someone who speaks empathetically on this topic, during my dark times, I was intrigued to get to know this drug addicted duplicate side of me. I thought she at one point made me a good writer; I thought she made me a “bad-ass.” Nearly a year; and I still hear the ringing in my ears that would pierce my skull as I would sit at my desk, lining up in preparation for another test. I always had a gram, rarely ever less. Addiction left me a mistress to constant emotional and physical distress. I thought I could never fit into that black dress… The biggest test that got me out of my mess was telling myself “I deserve better than this.”  

Humans do hold some capability to redefine their genetic codes. Though there are some things in some of us (Like Huntington’s) that we have to carefully decide how we will make our lives (if one WANTS too) worth living. I thought I liked myself best when I wasn’t sober. I’d be me, but more lively, witty. But highs never last, natural or not. All of us all crash.  Shortly I would find myself in a mental cage, temples throbbing my regretful and painful choices- all for what? Towards the end of using I would sit and stare at nothing. Hoping that words would flush through me, just as Dopamine would flush my receptors, each time I picked up that plastic scepter.

Breaking my habit was like racking up broken and torn fall leaves. That would so shortly, put my mind at ease. I could sleep again. Eat again, live again. Eventually, gain confidence with every pound I put back onto my 60 pound something frame. That day came because I choose it too. You don’t need to look for who will do that for you; you can’t always have someone there. Even when you are in what feels like the darkest mental lair that you so dared to explore. Realizing that the night before only left my body and brain sore.

Though I am more susceptible to develop an addiction and did, does not mean by any means the lucky ones whose odds of addiction are lined up higher than mine- you won’t get addicted. Addiction always turns physical but starts as mental. Convincing yourself that the cotton-mouth conversations, will next day be realized as a train you’ll never see again leave the station. I found creation once I got past my deadly white temptations. A permanent, content, mental vacation. It’s never too late to find out how you honestly like yourself.

Breeze

Today I came out from a haze

It was a Sunday.

 

I know my wildfire persona has been tamed

But I have never laid in my bed

 

In pain

 

Feeling absolutely mundane.

 

Being as low and hallow

 

But still acknowledged and admired.

 

Like the momentary nostalgia and comfort on a fall day;

 

The array of leaves that would blow and accentuate my slightly

 

Unbelievably

 

But

 

Obviously

 

Small strong and physical

 

My beautiful red hair.


All the fall leaves blow away.

 

And her beauty

 

Conjured from forever mysteryness baby book faces.

I wonder the places I would have gone,

 

If had never been hit, tossed around,

 

Like a ping pong ball.

 

But I choose to fall back on the memories that light up the emerald stars that are my eyes.

 

Which are not a mystery to me.

A Message of Worldly Awareness

The world is crying in fear.

For there is a “man”

In office,

Who hates:

Women,

Gays,

Trans,

And

Queers.

How weird,

That humanity would vote in an asshole and consent to all this

I * N * S * A * N * I * T * Y

But really,

What the fuck?

The world is being shaped to be about how much luck one is born within the color of their skin.

Is this really the world we want to raise children in?

I can’t believe there are still “people” who won’t give human kindness,

Life, we- aren’t supposed to be,

Like this.

Who gives a fuck if a mother feeds her new born,

That doesn’t mean shes whorin.

Stop torturing people with words or hateful actions,

Just because they are foreign.

What happened to my rights to birth control?

This bastard really started on a bad roll.

Any ma-

MONSTER,

That demands to be called sir and fucks with my- our rights,

Is far from a gentlemen.

Am I,

Her,

Or,

She,

Really killing if we chose to have an abortion?

A fetus for any woman takes a great amount of our life’s portion.

And if we aren’t ready for it then it feels like we’re drowning in an ocean of

No support and confusion.

I think the most disgusting part that I have witnessed,

is a white man who spat poison to a Muslim,

Screaming he deserves to be in prison with the “rest of them”.

Fucking lame.

Life is a game, but if the choices we make,

Make us who we are;

I say, produce shining stars,

Don’t fall out of the sky.

Lets get out of this jaded prism,

And let some light in.

I don’t believe in the violence,

Beatings,

or

Fighting.

There is nothing productive about harsh lightening.

Yes,

It is,

Frustrating.

But lets delegate.

Fuck any man who expects me to be in the kitchen with his dinner plate.

I’m getting as many degrees as I please.

My intelligence is beyond all of this.

My voice is bait to put an end to all of this,

H * A * T * E.

Wait.

Let’s look at this worldly,

We all,

Laugh,

Cry,

Breathe

And

Love.

So why try and squash a part of humanity,

Fight fire with awareness and love.

We all feel as though the weight of the Earth and

Some days,

Universe,

Is on our shoulders.

We can make sure the world doesn’t get any colder.

So lets change it.

Instead of blocking opportunity

with bullshit blocking boulders.

WE

ALL

HAVE

SHOULDERS.

Realization: Philosophy of Communication

Realization:

Comes when a person has reached their limit. In anything they have been wishing to change, due to stress or discomfort. A common issue I have seen in the area I live in specifically is that- it’s people that are the root cause of many issues and struggles. I am a prime example as well. My most recent example would be my last relationship. For two years I struggled to come to the realization that the one component that was causing me the most grief, needed to be cut. But infatuation and manipulation are two powerful things. I was blinded by both. Also at the time, I thought I deserved what I was getting served due to my abuse. But that is a victim mentality I know longer believe in.

We all have to come to a realization in order to change our personal nations. No one on this planet knows us as well as we do. If we make it a priority. I used to have people that knew me better than I did because it is easier to be taken under someones wing, rather than spreading our own. But how do we achieve full control if we do this constantly? We don’t.

A lot of people have problems or a fear of change. Which is something I have always embraced. Anything new I have always been excited for. I mean why not? I do understand that some people are the most comfortable in their bubbles and schedules. But I wonder, even for them, if it ever gets boring. It must. A key to happiness is to have variation in one’s life. Without it, we know what to expect- and that’s never fun. I am one who encourages challenges and new relationships. Flux is a constant and natural state of our lives out and in our control and liking. I will never understand the beings who insist on never changing or trying. How are we or they supposed to learn anything new? They don’t. When we can expect how a day will go- it is not an exciting time. For someone of us I realize there may be limited options to changing things materialistically. Okay, well fuck materials, what about the mental? We have the absolute power in our brains on how we want to feel and act. I don’t even believe that mental disorders are set backs anymore- though they are challenging and make daily life harder- they are still no excuse as to why one shouldn’t embrace change.

From my view: I have been through more abuse, in such a short amount of time- than anyone should even think of in their life time. So when I see people struggling with things that just include a change of mentality, its hard for me not to be stern. For I know what its like to be on the floor bleeding out, wondering and hoping if I would wake up as me, or an angel. I am an inspiration for a reason. I have fire to inspire. My words are meant to for my readers to close their laptops and feel stronger. Want to live a little longer. For I couldn’t imagine my life if I never struggled. To be honest, if one does not find inspiration or motivation through their struggles- that meant they didn’t truly struggle. For I believe in every human, we are smart enough to learn from our pain. But some beings bask in their fountains of agony.

Realize the lies you are telling yourself and the things you aren’t taking chance on. For how we are supposed to make new memories, stories or lessons without taking a chance?

Message to Survivors;

I’m tired of being censored.

I know all my loved ones are so concerned,

But haven’t you all learned?

I need normalcy- I yearn for it.

My trauma drama is getting real old,

And I have been told,

That I’m getting too old to be scared of;

Showers,

Certain hours,

Monsters dark powers.

I turn my trauma into a beautiful garden of flowers.

Notice this,

All this pain,

Took so long to tame,

To match all the names to the dark games that I got bored of-

Because being used gets really fucking lame.

So I ask you; don’t turn off that song because it took me so long to actually get those memories to be gone.

I’m twenty-one and woman enough,

Tough enough to make it through this rough,

To speak up for myself.

This shit you don’t understand,

And to be honest, I don’t know if anyone can.

That includes me.

The dark faces I used to see are no longer aloud to swim my sea.

Dear Monsters,

Though I’m going to be a doctor,

Don’t expect me to fix you,

Because you all tossed me in a stew.

And I fucking flew.

Now I’m losing the memories of you.

I hope it makes you shake that I no longer wake,

In the middle of the night screaming your name.

You play games.

Have you ever met anyone who has beat your boss level?

I didn’t feel as though I deserved to settle.

I can’t tell anyone of you apart.

I hope you fiend for my touch,

Because I know it’s such a rush.

But now I crush you.

In my beautiful words,

Worlds.

All created by my right hand,

In a new written out land,

Where no hands have ever stricken me.

You said you liked me.

Mother fucker you were thirsty for innocence,

You make Pennywise not want to throw in his two cents.

Don’t take it personally when I don’t pick up my phone,

Because it comes down to me not giving a fuck- really.

My current role just feels so right,

The connections I have made without you are so tight.

I am light.

No here’s the “damaged”,

“broken-hearted-”

SURVIVORS.

We are the revolution who can come up with a solution to make sure,

No more monsters drown innocent children in their poison ocean.

You just have to shine,

Get back to what makes you prime.

This takes patience and time.

And most important of all- your mind.

I used to wake up every night in terror from the nights I used to be trapped in a demon’s lair.

Pulling at my hair,

Wishing he would take all of my air—-

I looked at his eyes, multiple times,

“HAHAHA, I’m not scared”.

Breathe.

SCREAM.

Find yourself then go get a supportive team to lean,

Instead of turning to white powder that gives you twenty minutes of temporary power.

Don’t spend time regretting all of those lost hours.

You’ll never come out of that ivory tower.

Listen;

This isn’t the answer to this,

But I believe that my words are as powerful as Athena’s kiss.

Here are some tips;

When you feel your PTSD seams start to rip,

Don’t chase a drip,

Find yourself a mental whip and put that itch back to bed.

My abuse comes with a bottle of booze,

All because some idiot thought he could choose me,

Use me,

And chew me.

Watch why I fly so.

Free.

Philosophy Of Communication: Part one, Chapter one

Today I drove into the morning sun rise. And was completely taken by surprise. When my soul soaked up the premature rays that were so eager to appear first over the horizon. My soul felt as though she was being regenerated.

Today I also realized how comfort and patterns are connected in addiction; both good and bad.

I live differently compared to most twenty-one-year old’s. Don’t get me wrong, I still have many of the same interests and influences around me. But one of the differences that makes my mentality stand out from the my generation’s status quo; is the fact that I realized that we are all present in all of our events, processes and CHOICES. In the peak of a bad choice, we are present, but not fully aware. Granted everything is circumstantial in this life and I recognize that. But lets take a party for our example setting; and at this party walks in John Doe who has never tasted snow, and wants to play. He was raised under the influence that all drugs are bad. But John is at a party, surrounded by his friends who he all knows and trusts. And if they’re all doing it, will one time really hurt?

And John Doe, became John Snow.

With the new name change from Doe to Snow; John develops an addiction. Addictions are patterns of fun, comfort and then survival. Fun, in the beginning. When the drug is still so new to your system, you snort up every euphoria that is promised to always follow after each line. John is present physically for his every day choices, that eventually do evolve from fun to survival. Making sure there’s enough money in the bank to re-up, or at least hoping there will be enough left over from last nights run to get him through his day. John Snow is not fully mentally present in his choices; he hasn’t reached Realization.

Not all patterns and sought out comforts are bad. This is where Aristotle’s ethics and personal favorite quote of mine come into play: “Moderation in everything, including moderation”. The negative and positive number line for what can be classified as a good or bad pattern; is as apparent as night and day.
Negative patterns are tightly intertwined with addiction, as well as a considerable amount of mental disorders and impairments. While I do believe that experimentation and curiosity are completely normal and should be practiced in safe environments as well as good mental places- the gamble of John Snow getting caught in the comfort of his pattern vs challenging his inner self. As he lies awake night after night. In physical and mental agony from the come down of his choices; lets hope he realizes his choices before it is too late. Positive patterns in life are as followed; Set schedule, closest thing to a “normal life” as one can achieve (think American Dream), healthy diet and so on.

A life of no trauma, is a rare commodity in this world. The world is truly in a constant state of flux. And as players in this world, game of life. Change is within us. Where did the humanity make a point for change to be something that is so feared?

First Step: Realization

This is this is most important step in the process of change. It is the hardest, because no one else can do it for you.

More later.

No Name Street

Everyone is fighting their own demons,

And when they all collaborate and lean in-

It makes anyone want to quit.

I’ve been full of whit- never only had half of it.

That crimson tasting sinful poison lures you into my petals-

And

Thorns.

I tried to warn you I was torn out and worn.

Darling I promise you I don’t act like a drone,

When I moan,

It’s as fluctuating as the moons phases that are written in the stars to be

Forever changing.

Our physical fatality is more than I can breathe.

I have shed and shredded so many worn out,

Texts, phrases and passages,

And not because you told me too,

Just like you, the people who I drive to are ones who I respect for their life intellect,

That I might at the moment neglect because one of those old phases was,

“My words in a constant wreck”.

But I’d rather live correct than a mother fucking beautiful wreck.

Sweetheart,

All my bad habits were and are temporary bad phases.

But I always remember,

With or without you,

My soul is not only excited,

It’s ignited,

By my independent lighted, delighted dreams that are so high they pass Ms. Aphrodite.

My demons are in an over stuff closest,

That represents all the stuff that layers my house- that’s just lost.

I hardly raise my voice, never even raise a hand to try and stand against you.

Don’t you get that basic math is; one, one- two?

I fight myself not to close myself out from humanity.

Oh,

But here shes goes on another probably already told tragedy-

She doesn’t want to sound like a broken record; but her mind just goes through changing processes to cling to some sort of closure.

I know your affection is not charity,

But handsome used to bring me so much clarity.

The Four Headless Horsemen

F U C K Y O U;

For blocking me from the door; locking my mind making me want to hit the floor.

I want time,

To write,

And recite,

No longer live in a god damn fucking fright.

You know for me how hard that is, right?

Even pen and paper can make fear.

Lately, I’ve made it rare that I shed any tears.

Because I have learned through the years- don’t waste them on monsters that call themselves “men”.

While you all burn in hell, I’ll rise to heaven.

So many years being tasted by empty faces, that make sure to burn out their finger traces.

But the great thing of amnesia is they all become unfamiliar places and faces.

I hope I’m your biggest headache,

Biggest regret.

I know out of all of you I was the only one who had to reset her world.

I’ve been over being beaten,

That’s why I once stopped eating.

Neglect is one hell of a ghost that can haunt a woman to insanity.

But I later found clarity, once I stopped being so angry.

After I let myself be forgiven.

I dream of you begging for my mercy.

But if you all haven’t figured out by now-

Fuck or traumatize a writer

And she will write you and her feelings out because her legal rights can’t reach the appropriate heights.

We were so depressive,

Suppressive.

Just a cocaine cock that was an absolute mess.

But like all the rest,

I was the only one who was left to deal with the post-traumatic stress.

Shit.

I should have taken all of your whips.

And made you all strip.

Maybe hoping it would kick you all into reality, making you realize it was insanity when you said,

“This is okay”.

Assholes.

I never said I wanted to play.

You all were just salty when you couldn’t get laid.

I weighed so little, almost to nothing.

But you want to know something,

I’m stronger.

Wiser.

Self-mother fucking starter.

Three Keys From a Modern Philosophy King

Remember who you are:

Remember who you are.
Not always where you came from.
Because little do some know that the strongest souls are formed in broken homes.
Find a purpose and push through. There are days where my head feels as dry as the desert.
I’m a beautiful writer, this is what brings me pleasure.
Pounding my fingers on a keyboard; breaking records for how fast I can make a masterpiece and at the fastest pace.
I have been told I am rare; souly, biologically, genetically;
Technically I come from two families; that all do love me.
But at the end of the day, it matters most that I see myself grow from a little seed, into the tallest redwood tree the world has ever seen.
I want to grow in evergreen reality; not in traumatic tendencies and drug-induced fantasies.
I enjoy seeing clearly.
I crave more knowledge, life- so eagerly.
My eyes are no longer hazy, and have never been lazy.
Because believe me, even when I was my own worst enemy- I never let the drugs, abuse or treason get the best of me.
For why would I want to have my life be swept away by a paper man; they fall so easily at the truth.
Halsey sang to me, “And you know the truth hurts, but secrets kill”.
I’m no longer for sorry you not wanting to- what was the word again?
Oh,
DEAL.
With me. Then without me.
I am no one’s god damn key- you have to have a soul and the strength to be able to see.
People confide in me about confidence, and ask how I make mine fit- just like my favorite pants.
I tell my loved ones,
“It’s like a trance”.
A dance that can not be taught in class.
Think of life as a mass.
How do we pass through the messes?
We make them into lessons.
For how can one go through life without taking a risk.
Borrow my eyes; here is another one of legendary Philosophies;
Every choice,
Step,
Action;
Is us taking a chance.
There are variations of situations and so many possible destinations-
But I have one.
Because at the end of the day you want to close your eyes- like me,
Knowing you have won.
Knowing you didn’t run.
Here’s an example for you simple minds to handle;
How do find our favorite anything?
Like that shop where I found my favorite ring.
Though this is a lesser example in the vast complication that is humanity; and the game we all play called,
“Life”,
I believe I was put on this planet to help make it so we can all live with a little-
No,
A lot less strife.
Living under a knife is anything but nice-
So for fuck sake get rid of those bothersome problems and anxious thoughts that are almost as itchy as lice.
Is when we realize- not always once, sometimes twice-
That living to be nice should be a priority.
Don’t be like the current and upcoming majority,
Say to yourself, “There is more in me”.
Some that don’t grow, ended up slumped and stuck,
Thinking and being used-
Like a garden hoe.
I can promise you that being caught in the negative under toe,
Is a lot stronger than any drugs that can be put up your nose.
And that dark under toe will leave you decomposed.
Now you know.
Don’t make a mistake to think that I am perfect,
Another rare trait of mine is that I know I am worth it.
Battered.
Rattled.
Beaten.
Stirred.
SHAKEN.
To awake a flame of a million suns,
That can either burn one so hard they with that December night that they had just run.
But I am in a constant state of fun;
Doing everything with a smile,
Makes life so much more worthwhile.
So I invite you to stay a while-
See that the this world of Philosophy is so worth it to me-
Floors made of diamond tile-
That never goes out of style,
Have you ever walked down an aisle,
Paved with rose petals?
This is why I no longer settle.
For;
Anyone,
Or thing.
Tossing that ring gave my drive a new spring.
Why do I have to called a Queen, when I so obviously hold the strength of a thousand kings.
Realizing that life can give you wings
Is a gift.
But life doesn’t just hand them over- you have to lift.
Your boundaries,
Spirit.
Body.
Mind.
Persona.
Be open to change because life is in a constant state of flux-
And maybe there are some of you that will say to this,
“Who really gives a fuck?”
And I smile and say,
With that mentality,
Good luck.

Undecided Title Love Poem

It’s happened,

I have fallen.

God fucking dammit,

I told myself no one deserves me to commit,

But then you went and spent all my bad dreams,

Turning them into the sweetest flavors of ice cream,

And the last time I was in your bed,

And I fought off those demons in my head.

But I will admit,

You lead me,

To a place above and beyond.

Infinite.

You love how well you fit,

Into me, on me, with me, beside me.

Baby boy just know that you are not the only one who is scared to trigger all this joy,

We were both used for sexual toys,

In a time in our lives that will be covered by my sweet honey vibes.

I love climbing,

Your body and mind.

You say I’m beautiful,

Darling,

Don’t you know how you startle me?

My soul was once an empty hole,

You had been used like a tool, I promise I don’t that shit to you, its so uncool.

Can you teach me how chemicals react?

Because I find myself wanting to be wrapped in you.

You feel me get stronger,

Maybe that’s how this lasted longer-

Than it was “supposed too”.

I never understood so much until I got to know your touch.

Your now my favorite rush,

Because we didn’t rush.

You told me to hush my rapid quick fire demons

And I was the one who decided that I no longer wanted to keep them.

I wonder one day if you’ll be him,

But I feel like I’m in a deep freeze swim, going out on such a fragile god damn limb if I asked you,

“Do you want to be him?”.

I always love being wrapped in your vines-

Because we agreed I’d never go back to running white lines,

Or telling white lies.

I believe this winter isn’t warmer because of global warming,

The heat of a thousand amber suns road into my life with no warning.

You still have me soaring over horizons.

Somebody’s son, look at all you have won.

Writer’s Curse

This Writers Curse,

Is as heavy as Hearse.

This writers shit is always on a quick shift,

It’s so god damn dangerous,

It lead me to be completely outrageous,

Raging all the memories that I was caging in hope that it would change me.

No.

A writer can erase their mind from all

The pain they feel inside.

And in time if that pain doesn’t get turned into an entry, talk or rhyme,

It caused me to once follow little white lines.

But that was 2016,

I’ve been done, I’ve been clean. Don’t fucking ream me a new one.

I told you, I’m done and have won.

I have to thank my supporting team for letting me lean on their shoulders,

So I could stop thinking about little white boulders.

Their wasted space and lost times.

But after last night,

I’m going back to quote I said I was nine, that I wish I had said to myself last year, but I was doing way to much yay at the time-

“I don’t ever want to drugs, I don’t want to lose control”.

Beautiful girl, put up your curls, the world is about to throw you on a full forward motion into a hellish ocean.

That was five years before I’d being crying tears of,

Fire.

I was his underage desire.

For I was convicted at fourteen to be made out to be nothing but a flower used for a thirty-two year old mans disgusting power-

And I can’t tell you the pain of the first hour when he first climbed on top of me to claim his power,

That first hot boiling shower-

That all ended up making me tower.

It ended without any wounds being mended.

Mentality addicted to chaos- I looked to every man as not a boyfriend but a boss.

I lived for the danger so I wanted to be its first ranger-

But I got tired of trying to find revenge in strangers.

A writers curse is both a blessing and a curse,

For I can write a verse in the middle of being so hurt;

I do it for me and my family who loves me so much, who has taken me to above and beyond.

This mass of energy is is something out of the world,

But I swear to you I’m fighting this battle with my hands and not a sword.

This is my world.

Let’s get out of my dark past,

Because look at where I am now, that traumatic bullshit never lasts,

It will always pass.

Beautiful girl who doesn’t let herself get called baby no more-

Because that name has scars beaten in.

Your life is at the touch up your fingertips- for the FINN.

Stop blaming yourself for all the treason-

NO REALLY STOP.

It wasn’t by no means yours, Dad’s, Matt’s or Mom’s fault that we all got written into his,

Twisted plot.

Dear Family who loves me endlessly,

I know sometimes I shout and scream-

Okay well maybe we all do on the daily,

But that’s because I want you all to see,

That I write these words carefully to help you three come to find,

That this happened to me and not you

And I know that sounds so selfish, but that just isn’t true.

Just trust that when I am not talking to you, I am writing for you, for me and for those who can’t find the light that I did to live,

Because in order to survive you have to give;

Your body,

Persona

and

Mind.

I know I am the prettiest when,

My smile shines the brightest-

And being a write-tress

is a blessing and curse,

that makes me

Shine.

“Though she is tiny, she is fierce”

The cocaine lines done on the outline of my soul are heavy

I’ve been screaming that I’m ready.

To take charge,

I’ve been living large,

Choosing to indulge in the natural highs of life.

Because no one tells you that the worst come downs are when lies are uncovered,

And I landed in reality.

That you really liked fucking her.

You wasted time,

No,

Spent time

Chasing a shinier god damn dime.

Who was as new and ripe

Like a freshly picked lime.

Mean while,

Your little lady was sniffing in her white house,

In that lose white blouse.

Little light clouds,

That aloud me to drown out all the crowds,

That no longer speak to me.

Because you had to go and smack me,

In attempt to try and remind me,

“How to act right.”

Fuck

Y O U.

I ducked you.

Ow.

Oh,

Wow.

What a surprise,

Another free written reprise about your demise.

I write this for really,

To bring honor to me and my family.

I swallowed my pain,

Was suffocated by your vain-

Just for myself.

You don’t deserve my love as he does.

I left you.

I’m an angel sent from the skies above-

You just had to go and shove me.

Devil in me-

We will never be we.

Don’t even dream about me.

I aspire to be your worst nightmare.

Because I still remember the pain

Of you,

Pulling on my January embers.

I made my own healing potions,

I use them to make my skin so soft like lotion.

And I let him soak it all in.

Because of you,

My mind was once a rouge ocean.

“Oh, son.”

Someone should have said to you,

“You don’t have to use your fists when a scared woman resists you grabbing at her tattooed wrists.”

Neglect is one hell of a knockout.

I look back at the girl who was once in a constant state of pout,

Thanks to those blackout lips,

Those bruised hips,

That Brown Eye’s lips,

kissed away.

And now I sway my hips to his touch.

Because you gripped me like a broken clutch.

I was never your stupid whore.

I grab my oar to swim away,

From all the hate.

And even if I’m late to my destiny,

I know that even though I am tiny,

That me leaving you,

Was the best thing done right,

By

ME.

Remember December?

Why must I feel as though I am sinking ships either for myself,
Or the disappointment of others.
I refuse to give up on me,
Because I’m doing this for all of the beautiful souls who never got the chance,
Little honey bees that were never able to fly,
They got stuck getting high.
I never really noticed until the seasons changed,
That I have a never-ending craving for freedom.
I’d rather live my own life than play by someone else’s rules.
My game is much more fun,
Because I am on a lifelong run
For knowledge-
I always say Philosophy saved me.
The shade of blue that has cast itself around my ora is one of the challenges, temptations
And trust.
I give myself the most credit for my self-edit-
It happened so quickly, didn’t it?
You cannot spell trust without us,
Do you remember that day we met in December?
Our lust turned
Stable.
Sanctuary turned into smiles in your sheets,
When she used to look so scared.
My rose garden dreams were almost stolen by thieves,
I nearly swept us away like autumn leaves.
Change is so strange, isn’t it darling?
Look all around me,
That progression is me-
Helped by we.
There was something in the wind that summer night,
It only caressed my face,
Until I faced it.
And it wasted the old me away.
Don’t deprive the world of your greatness,
I have just been so lucky to see it.

Little Lion Cub: Rewritten

Formally, I would like to point out that writing this piece; I kept my peace. Once upon a dark time in my life, I was one some nobody’s ‘cub’. And though I had long loved The Lion King before this toxic time, this movie became a strange and twisted theme to my life. But I had owned memories related to this movie; deeply rooted in my psyche.
My parents had this wooden chair. It’s red (green, but do I really even know?) Anyway, enjoy this. It is truly from one of the most purest and untainted times of my life.

 

Come with me,

to run free,

to Pride Rock.

I hear there are sapphire skies.

Fireflies replace street lights.

Hold onto me tight,

Can you feel the love in the air tonight?

Every queen usually has someone she leans on.

I don’t need a ring! I’m glad you can’t wait to be my king.

Everyone will look left,

Look right,

To see us standing in spotlight.

Lets hop right to Rafiki’s tree,

to remind us at last,

that we are not our past.

“Remember who you are”,

Young Nala, young Simba Cub.

And you’ll go so far across the stars.

Life is breezy and sweet like G-Eazy,

when all you gotta do is by,

Hakuna Matata.

It means no worries, for the rest of your days.

So stretch out your tails as slow as a snail.

In the warm African sun,

where wondering free is absolute fun.

Most importantly of all, remember to always give love,

To the Circle of Life.

Wandress State of Mind

Though I run till my breaks hurt
I have loved till I tasted dirt.
And all of the embodiment of a 4’11 squirt.
I have no reason to apologize for all of his lies.
Those caskets are dry to the bone and buried with his dull knives.
People come and go but I still stay me,
I still slay me.
In the control of myself,
I get to know the most of myself
Lately I have been posted by myself,
Blasting Post Malone is better than taking unwanted blows.

Sex used to be an excruciating vex.
But now it’s a spell from my body,
I do not just cast on any body.
My body is a temple.
An example,
Of how a woman should lick her own wounds
Instead of letting goons into her goddamn bedroom.
Dear Daddy’s princess,
Dear John Doe’s bae,
I have something to say.

Hey, try a new part of life,
That contains little to no strife.
Because it doesn’t involve trying to be someone’s wife.

Being twenty-one is so much fun.
And you only live it once;
So don’t be a fucking dunce;
And god damnit, why are you on his arm again,
The night after
He called you
A
C**t.
What?
Slow down.
Take your mentality to my town-
To the streets that are paved by a wandress.
Opportunity in any direction her eye can see.
So start exploring,
Honey bee.

Crowded Places

I know you want to go different places,
I know the way I tour around so freely is so romantic to you,
No set destination,
Just me, tapped into my destiny.
Who is this girl?
She’s so frantic.
She’s so clumsy.
She’s so crazy.
Hair of January embers,
Her red still shines in peeks of the darkest of lights and colors.
How?
Oh honey.
I wish I could take you to all these different places, but
You seem to be scared of my possible different faces.
And, I’ve been scared of crowded places.
And I swear I never meant to mess with your head,
I’m so sorry if I have made you sad-
But I’m so scared of crowded places.
Come with me, I’ll take you home.
You turn around and say to me,
What if this life is built for us to be “we?”
Wee lass, I have experienced to much loss in my life from reaching for that we,
Us.
Trust.
I’ve been scared of crowded places.
I know I’ve had to put two walls up for you to lean on,
For all the times I stood you up.
Darling,
I know you want to be in my spaces,
Just give me your patients.
For I can give you what you want-
I see the way you watch my eyes fall back as my smile grows outward.
I’ve just been scared of crowded places;
For my faces make me want to be waisted.
But sweets, I am already so tainted.
I know you waited,
So have I.

What will I do with you now?

Poems continued

See all this inspiration, love?
See all this ambition, love?
I flew from you, a broken dove
Bleeding dry from lack of love.
My darling Lucifer,
this if for you.
Your fur was made of scales,
that reflected each one of your
twisted tales.
And then when the princess became witness,
she came to the conclusion that his love to her was all an
i l l u s i o n.
Never to become reality; as she became ready to slay the commodity of her wild past.
So the princess slayed her dragon, gaining the strength,
to take on anything.
The rips in her gown were worse than the attempted blows to her iron heart.
For in her mind she knew he was poison;
and now she was finally
closing
in on a happy ending.
Built, written and slayed all by herself.
**************************************************
The sea of shadows is a place no person wants to swim.
Welcome to her head,
welcome to her hell.
Mesmerizing. Chastising. Glisten, Gleam and Glow.
Listen. How far will she go?
Can you hear her demons play on her dendrites?
Crystallizing a broken branch; attempting
pushing,
pulling,
perceiving for her perseverance to push to a different major.
When she just wants her natural gifts to be appreciated.
Shit.
Who is this kid?
Trying to kid herself she could be a science major just like her father, and supposed to be her brother,
but she is the genius prodigal daughter who was gifted a pen.
Who almost didn’t allow her to become who she is.
Eminem once sang it perfectly,
“…he goes home and barely knows his own daughter.”
Daddy, your girl is turning into a lady,
who needs to accomplish a few lists before she can come back and commit to comfortably sitting in your lap, like when I was little. Remember?
Mama,
My angel.
My angle for a majority of inspiration I put out into the world.
I never forget about you- even though the image of me is blurred like the pee in the carpet;
contribution to the cats as well.
I’m sorry it’s not better for you. And I wish it was.
But that involves bank.
That I will soon have after I submit one essay,
just wait a sec- hey.
Time to close that laptop now.
I’m sorry there is always at least one deadline I always seem to miss,
like how I was once a mistress,
to a mind so in distress,
he held me captive in his kiss.
But I remember better now that I stay away from white lines.
That every day is another day to woman the fuck up.
Beautiful girl don’t let anyone destroy your,
including you.
Cause you have a tract record of getting a head of yourself.
And that beaker boy,
who you see the sunrise in his eyes,
doesn’t belong to you.
But the disappointment in his when
when you visualize doing an activity from your past life,
is not worth it to me.
Though this sober celebration was started by me,
continued by me,
flourished by me,
the rose petals that reside on the my book-shelf remind me of the closest thing to red he and I can both see.

Breaking Her News

I make headlines
like bloodlines
bloody eyes,
bloody lies
bloody demise
I’m on my reprise; it should be no surprise
when I rise to make a point that this joint
has been worn out, has been blown out and sneezed away.

 

So sway to the rhythm of something new, and maybe you’ll get a clue to who you are currently and who you’ll evolve to; futurly.
Because truly we all have curiosity as to who that will be

 

Especially when it comes to me,
that sweet pea,
Don’t you know how bright you shine?

 

The emeralds in your eyes are worth more than the hope diamond,
worth more than all the demands in this damn world;
for we are all walking in our own hells.

 

I think I’m finally starting to like who I become.

 

For this is the start of my story,

 

which will one day make

 

history.

From an Existentialist

The Rhetoric or Lying

Lying. Being a liar. Telling a false truth. In hopes of gaining either an emotional or material benefit. Manipulation loves laying with liars. But it happens. We are humans with no set ethical way of life except for our interpretations and perceptions. As well as the help of our environments throughout one’s life.

But I seem to be stuck in a time where we were once playing this ‘lying game.’ And there are a select few of individuals who come to my mind, that still spit out tall toxic tales. I can quickly forgive my younger and more vulnerable self for the time that I was involved and even lead this sort of foolish lifestyle.


It. Always. Comes. Back. Around.

One just has to be brave enough to identify what their ‘come around’ is. Whether that be in karma; having the same or similar wrong-doing done to you, that you have once done to another.


But, do not feel bad.

This is how we; some learn.


In my opinion, it is the beings that hold the boldest and beautiful souls, so powerful. Sturdy enough that bravery takes over ego. Confidence left confided in cocaine baggies and careless outbursts with the people around me at one blurred time in my life. One has the right to get frustrated with an individual who possesses this sort of persona. For in most cases that I have seen, they do not change. For the longest time, I even believed my life would with away as my septum had started. Being brave is such a blessing. Blessings come from religion, in religion, there are Lucifer and God. It’s a balance of using such strength for the ethical good of one’s self. Or the selfish side. Though, I do not believe in god. This is the closest thing to a religious connection I will ever make.


It is a person’s choice to take anything they have experienced in their lives. And choose to either destroy it, learn from it and hopefully do better. One of the many tedious and insipid ‘facts of life.’ Don’t we all love those?

Many blame themselves if they are in case an of “taking someone back.” And yes, that someone is toxic for them. That awareness is somewhere, suppressed logic is a symptom of shitty relationships of any kind. Or damaged by trauma; those insipid facts go again.


There truly are so many ways to describe how to be an ethical person, but unless one can live a content life in following a rule sheet in how to be somebody, they should start believing in themselves that they are a good person. That’s how anything positive starts to sprout, in my opinion. Is just believing. It is the kryptonite to lying and causes for the opportunity of hope to shine in. The days where some I see still get distracted with dust and ashes. But some have claimed, and I once too- joint papers are sometimes the only things that seem to hold our joints together. For sometimes this crazy world makes us feel as though we are all flying away to a place of pure light, authentic life. Maturity is what the young people around me SAY they want most. But for some, there are complicated corridors created by young whores who tried to stand in the way of magnificent accomplishment. Even ‘adults’ think they have things stupidly under control.


Recognize the natural bodily high reward system of yesterdays or that one proud day’s accomplishments. But remember to manifest it to days such where we get a little distracted. For some.


Recognize the natural and honest intoxication that comes with the connection. Something as simple as the first warm sip of a hot beverage on the most mesmerizing fall day. When the air outside lingers the aroma of pine, freshly poured rain, and cleansed soil. I have read in some places the rain cleanses the soul as well. Whether that comes from a book, beaker, Beethoven- make sure you find it in yourself. Notice how I didn’t list finding it in another person. For there was a time that the pockets of my jeans from when I was nineteen, constantly remind me of when I ran into the arms of my “savior.”


Find your muse, reader.

Find your natural flow.


For how long do these drugs really last


Do we really want to live so fast?

Pennywise’s Dancing Clowns

How could it be that some get away with murder,
After I wasted 27 hours of being pocked and pried open
Do you know what its like to try and defecate after having an unwanted entity repeatedly shoved in and out of you? Back side.
These are the gritty details no survivor has had the balls the speak of.
As you grit your teeth, regretting eating that first meal since the event,
I couldn’t starve myself anymore. Even for me…
Clenching onto the closest thing to you, it sounded like I was being raped all over again in my bathroom.
This made me scared of food, doing the most natural human functions,
What the fuck?!
I still hear my fathers muffled tears through the door. He never left my side, and if I had let him come in,
He would have held his sixteen-year-old like she was six
And couldn’t go to the bathroom without Daddy holding her, or at least outside the door.
For fear of Pennywise appearing out from the floor.
But Pennywise later came to her,
In his different forms
Of three demons,
Shaped like men.
Each snarling, drooling, waiting to feed off her fear such as IT.
But Bev boasted herself from the book and through her bones
Looking the dancing clowns in the eye and said
“I’m not scared of you.”
January embers always save her day.

In awareness of the “#Me Too” trend,
Thank you, Alyssa Milano, for being the first to send out the inspiration outline for this trend.

Paper Chasers

One day, she thought: “you’ll be able to solve the theory.”

Can one live a life without slaving away at one piece of paper or stacks of another?

Let’s compare.

Manager or CEO

Barista

Or be the one they call in for “the big guns”

Ending up in customer service calculating a total;

Or that button down boy in the lab breaking his back over some goddamn beakers.

Where does it stop?

If ones does not evolve with the ethics of our unethical society;

They are deemed unworthy and more often than not, damned to the streets.

Homeless.

So I, we, turn to

Who?

 

We’re all just paper chasers at the end of the day.

Philosophies and Poetry

I’ve been accused of overdosing on confidence.
Never.
That girl used to sniff poison to her veins,
Now the chemicals that concoct all her congrats and credentials
Are thanks to her newest confidence confection
I drive to the empty parking lot of my
School
S * A * N* C * T * U *A*R*Y
To empty out all of my thoughts without pausing to the blaring of blasphemous bullshit on the box outside of my room- that never seems to turn off
Sanctuary;
A place I  skip too
Never to be scolded
For being something
*unwritten*
UNEXPECTED
People look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them of the miles I’ll drive. Destination, another chapter written. I am blessed that this is my gift. I believe being a writer is its subcategory of one having a wild soul.
There is no set definition, no fixed compass set for the due north.
Just a girl, with her pen and paper and passion.
I also know what it is like to have a gift take over vulnerable times; engulfing on weakness from one’s own mind or blows brought on by others. The spaces between my lines sang an album of sorrows; what was the POINT?
The point of writing about my poison, past, present, and future; moderately between good and bad.
For I believe the arche of life lies in the ability in one to balance, listen and learn. Do not be “the last word,” for it will never be remembered.
I see no point to hostility. I used too. I thought that by “roaring so loud” to the wrong collaboration of individuals; there is no one to blame EVERY TIME.
There are some cases that call for call backs.
There are others that cannot be mended; I say no blame,
For no human knows exactly the perception or thinking process of another.

You cannot blame; only explain.

Tattoo’d Meanings

Sinking

Seeping

Sweeping

Where do all of these things come from?

She is looking for a sign, to lead her in the right direction

Haunted by the successions of her brother

Of her dear old,

Father.

Mother swiftly lifting away

But can still admire her little sunray

Rinsing

Relaxing

Rising

Regrowth holds immaculate power that can pull any willing soul

She rinsed off her ripped skin,

Wounds heal.

Daddy’s little science girl- you should know that.

How those mediator cells react and interact to weave over a haunting memory.

Stupid girl- get your head into beakers and out of those books.

Relax. As she gets high off the smoke of her own flared ambitions. Her mind is like no other

She truly is fine, and she knows it

Rising to her own accomplishments

After almost being;

Repeatedly

Reported

Dead.

 

“She does not wear survivor on her arm for nothing”

She’s

A

Survivor

Staying

 

Strong

Mama’s House

There was a boy who lived in a house
Where the walls had holes that echoed opened wounds
That secrets and cement have paved over
This home raised a boy
Who turned himself into a man
But childhood is a parabolic shadow
That molds and metamorphoses
From boy to man
But though he wrote chased his fate in dreams
And turned into something magnificent
The scent of his mother’s wrongdoings disable his sense of smell- when it comes to finding someone with a gentle face and heart to match
Dear boy,
I empathize with you.
For I know what it is like to chase the environment comforts
That reminds us so much of childhood
Comfort
You should celebrate the fact that I am taking the time
To express the words
On this keyboard; contrasting our upbringings that have lead us to the young people we are today
But Dear….boy? Are you a man?
You have been controlled and conjured by the most horrific beings
But when something as sweet as cherry wine in the sunshine beamed down on your essence
Your pit turned raw

Headphones and Hell Nos

I just want to go home
Seems like everywhere I go
People have the same languages
Green smoke that turns eyes red
They all go off to ski in the powder room
Making love to Jack and Jamison
I swear that door slammed when it closed.
No, I don’t want another drink.
I just
Just want to be alone.
You know these days I stick with headphones and hell nos
To make sure I can drown out the white witch’s tempting urges
But you know these days
I choose to stick with headphones and hell nos
To keep my nose in tact and out of trouble
No I don’t want another drink,
Or what you think
I wish I could go home
But I’m still sticking with headphones
And all these “friends” of mine are leaving soon to go find another high
But I can’t go home,
Finding myself on another strange bed
People are blowing up my phone, asking where their party girl is
Guys, I’m sticking with hell nos and headphones
And they’re all leaving now, and I’ll be sitting in this strangers room
I wanted to be alone
Sticking with hell nos and headphones
Gives me the ability to get high off of empowering melodies and ballads
That my ballet slippers twirl and swirl to in the moonlight of my cherry wood floors
I was never that great at skiing anyways

For My Dream Job Partner

Authors note: I am profoundly and wholeheartedly broken at the horrific news of the passing of a magnificent young woman. Who walked hand in hand into a job with me, we both dreamed of pursuing.  Though I suffered a loss and hardship and had to let my dream sail sadly away- she continued her journey. Rouge waves wrongfully have affected everyone that she left her beaming essence on. Rest in paradise, door buddy. I am proud to publish my first ever Julia-Katherine original poetry piece. That will forever be in honor of cash-wrap partner, Suzy-Q.

I’ve never been called a crybaby
But you have made me cry lately.
My stage calls. My beautiful cast members need me,
I must cover up now.
I’ve never been known as a crybaby, but you’ve made me cry lately
How could someone who was once so beautiful to me,
Turn out to be
So damn ugly.
In the quickness
Of the
I M P A C T
Of a,
BLOW.
And I did.
I’ve never won anything in my life
Except to be the champion
At catching myself in the numbered statistics
In which one in four women and children get
BLOWN AWAY.
Your blow sent me
C A S C A D I N G
Tearing, ripping, bleeding
Through the branches, twigs, and trees.
Through familiar and unwordly mental territory
That was sworn by myself…
N * E * V * E *R
To be disturbed again.
Fuck you.
I got up from your blow
And was bleeding
“For no goddamn reason, little girl.”
They empty reasoning of three pairs of eyes
Three too many.
I calmed your demons as you used me as your antidote.
Thinking you slapped all the sweetness,
after roughly sniffing in all my fears.
*inhale, inhale, inhale*
Your fangs were dripping white lies, like your nostrils.
*exhale, exhale, exhale*
Trying to use me to satisfy that
INSATIABLE
Hunger. To fill that painful appetite.
Poor little boy.
You were never taught to fend for yourself. And that is why you seek wrongful “retribution.”
At the perfectly contoured corners, of my- of her, highlighted cheekbones.
Out of my sweet, rare soul.
Now, I laugh at you.
You tried.
And though the strikes you lassoed to my face
From the claws of your unearthly species
Did not fatally destroy me
The blows from others of your kind have.
And they have taken.
To early.
To young.
To what do you owe the mentally misdriven reason to think you may even think of laying your satanically scarred hands on our bodies.
Not all of us have made it through the tree.
1 in 4
But some of us
1 IN 4
Me
ONE IN FOUR
Survived, once again.
O * N * E
I * N
F * O * U * R

My sweet sister, may your angel wings thrive, develop and spread virtue to the ones who need it most. Though you are not here to spread inspiration for your daughter, in teaching her- her worth and what an example of a woman her mother is. You are still here. Your smile still lingers with me, door buddy. This is for you.