Mask, or Who I Was at Sixteen

A poem I wrote at sixteen. More explorations of the Dark that held me for so long.

The little red lines
That cross my arms
And blemish my pale skin--
You do not see them,
You do not know
Anything of the pain I'm in.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

The blade that calls
You do not feel.
The wounds it causes
Help me to heal.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

I'm good at hiding
All I feel;
I'm good at pretending
It isn't real.
I'm good at thinking
It helps me to heal.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

You think I'm happy,
You think I deal.
You think you know me,
But it isn't real.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

I'm all I have,
You don't know me.
I bury everything,
All that defines me.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

You see a mask,
A part I play.
'Cause that's all I am--
A shell. A life at bay.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

You'd help me, I know,
If I'd open up,
You'd save me.
But I don't know how.
I've hid so long,
I can't confide.
I know your love
Deep inside.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

You're there every day,
You'd wipe tears away.
If only I'd show myself to you,
I know you'd be true.
But my fears keep me hidden,
I can't confess,
I need your help,
I need you to bless.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

I'll cope somehow,
I'll try my best,
But I'm afraid
You wouldn't like my ways.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

I'll hit and punch
And call me names
And in the dark I'll play my games.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

It won't be real,
I don't have to feel,
"Tomorrow I'll be fine."
I'll repeat that line
Again and again.
And you'll never know
There is no me.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

The hitting, the punching,
The calling of names,
All of these are part of my life.
This is the way I cope.
This is how I feel.
Self-esteem? I have none.
I'm not running on an even keel.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

I haven't broken,
I've never cut.
I haven't tried yet,
I don't need to feel.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

It isn't a dream.
All this is real.
I'm dead inside.
I cannot feel.

That's not quite true.
Depression,
Anger,
Hatred,
Sadness.
All I feel--that sums it up.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
It isn't a dream.

I haven't cut,
Someday I will.
Someday I won't resist.
The blades are there.
They call to me.

I know now what it is.
Maybe if I see my blood,
A surge of relief,
A rush of pain,
At least I'll know
I can feel again.

I'm crying out,
A silent scream,
Tears in the dark,
This isn't a dream.

This isn't a dream.

Railing Against the Dark

I have discovered that the Dark is merely an illusion. This discovery renders it a little less capable of destroying me in an instant, but I do not yet know if that knowledge can entirely ransom me from its captive grasp. I must always be on my guard against it, for if I am not, its insidious voice creeps into my thoughts, splitting my very Self into a dichotomy of abuser and victim. I am two beings then, but only just now have I discerned that the voice of the abuser is the voice of the Tempter, ensnaring me in his most successful trap. If Jesus is at the core of my being, that being is of the Light. The Dark that disguises it is not some elemental part of myself--it is my own personal demon, sent as a lure from the Devil himself to capture my Eternal Soul through the one unforgivable sin of Despair. But by the Grace of my Heavenly Father, my Beloved Jesus, and the Holy Spirit,
I shall not fall again.

Find a new temptation, O Adversary. I have seen through your Dark.

A New Poem

What Does Okay Feel Like?

You asked me in the lunch line,
You called a last-ditch meeting,
You knew I could do better.
You all said:

Are you okay?
Is something wrong?
What's going on
With you?

You wanna talk?
I'm here for you.
Don't say you're sorry--
It's not about me.
You're only hurting you.

I put on a smile
You seem to believe.
I'm fine, I say,
But don't look too close.

Let me slip through your cracks,
Let me go on smiling.
Let me watch all alone
And see what I'm not.

As years march on,
The smile falters,
No longer reaching my eyes.
But you don't want to see,
So you don't really look.
And yet you ask once more:

Are you okay?
Is something wrong?
What's going on
With you?

You scare me this time.
It's something new.
You'd really listen
If I'd talk to you.

But what to say?
How do I start?
After all this time,
It tears me apart.
How can I make you see?

Then suddenly, without my bidding,
The hidden Me comes out,
And says, in a shaky voice,
What does okay feel like?

As your eyes widen in shock,
That little voice screams
NO! I'm NOT okay!