A Ginger's Devotion

Our hands nuzzle
Worn ridges
Against fresh silk
Your thumb stroking symphonies
Against my cocoon flesh.

In the darkness
I burn and
Pledge.
You smolder too.

I drink your scent
As my lips skirmish the velvet
Of your neck,
When I burrow deep on
Hunt for fire against
Ice calculations
Of insomniac nights.

I blame you
For this brilliant inferno
Dancing merrily atop
Stone walls and supple flesh.

Ice Queen hearts feeble
Beside soldier prowess,
Aged in vain
For a ginger devotion
Blazed and weaved.

Francisco Morning

Today was the last morning

I woke up wearing

The leopard suit

Across my naked flesh,

An empty bottle

Nested in the spot

You should have been.



Today I woke up with my last black eye.

My skin puckered purple

Festered blue around the edges

And a patch of yellow

At the crease.



The night before I’d fallen

From the stiff new

Leather couch,

My face kissing linoleum

As your fist

Cracked my side.



The mahogany night-table cushioned my fall

Its hunkered legs staked the crevice of my ribs

As

I dropped.



You left me, there,

The shattered vase

Lay siege to the floor,

Steel shards painted

My fingers

Red.



You walked out that

Damn door.



Today was the last time I woke up crying.

The yellow satin pillowcase tear-soaked

And

Blood-stained.

The cloth faded

Every happy memory.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself

Sometimes I wonder why. Why do I always choose people, situations, or things that aren't good for me. It's been that way my whole life. I try to walk away from negative situations that could really fuck me up, but they always seem to follow me. It's like an addiction. I always fall for the wrong guy, get mixed up with the wrong crowd, or choose the wrong place to be at the wrong time. It never seems to be able to fix itself and it never seems to make any sense to me.

Like right now, at this very point in time, there is a situation I should just walk away from. It's not worth my energy, it's not worth my emotions, and sometimes it sure as hell seems like it's not worth my time. I know that I should walk away, and I tell myself it's what's best. So, why can't I make my feet move?

Do You Remember

Do you remember
When you used to look at me
With a seductive smile
At your lips
And questions in your eyes?

When we used to lie awake
Until the earliest morning hours
Your hand
Curled in mine?

Do you remember
When I used to ask you
Why me?

Do you remember how I used to be?

I wondered
If I would ever
Complete the missing
Piece to my
Puzzle.

I would coil
Into the woodwork
Of my crushed velvet window-seat,
Stare off into the curves of the midnight sky,
Fingers pressed against the unruffled glass.

Do you remember the first day?

Your eyes met mine
Brimming with secrets
You dared me to
Unlock.

Do you remember
How you felt
When I walked through
The crowd
And smiled
At you,
Just you.

One Wish

I thought that this would be so much easier by now. I’m supposed to be over this by now, aren’t I? I thought things would get so much better when I didn’t have to see you, hear your voice, or remember you. Why can’t I just have that simple little wish?

This is not getting any easier. The tears still come sometimes. I thought the ache had subsided, but I was wrong. It comes back, slashing out at my fragile, healing heart that wants nothing more than to be whole again. It still fucking hurts.

Build Me Up, Strike Me Down

Sominazation Disorder. Insomnia. Chronic PTSD. Eating Disorder NOS. ADHD-like tendencies. Crazy, psycho, belong in a loony bin. Don’t talk to that girl; she’ll contaminate you. A social leper. Girl with a disability-yeah, that’s me.

Fall semester was a dark, twisted mess. It was nothing but a cycle of nightmares, tears, and silent screams. That’s all I’ve ever known-sordid, traumatic memories. It fucked up me up bad-mentally, emotionally, physically. I was a complete, absolute wreck. A concerned counselor required I go for an evaluation. Why? To prove whether or not I was crazy.

For the past five months, I have been going up to UVM once a week for Trauma Therapy. Two weeks ago, I finally had answers to what has been haunting me for so long. I finally had a diagnosis. A label. I was diagnosed with Somanization Disorder. No, don’t ask me what it is, because I barely understand it myself. But, to make some sense of it, whatever affects me emotionally or psychologically affects me physically. It started developing when I was a kid. I didn’t grow up in a stable, healthy environment, and I have no idea what one is. Hell, why would I? I was an abused kid. It’s not hard to put two and two together. I was never raised with how to accept, learn about, deal with, or interpret emotions. So it gave me a fucked up childhood and a difficult future.

I am struggling to even find any sort of evidence of what is healthy and what is stable, because for the first twenty and a half years of my life, I’ve been floundering. A diagnosis is the last thing I need to deal with. Yes, it confuses me, and yes I wish it hadn’t of happened. Some of the only positive effects that come out of it is it offered me some directions, some answers, and a lot of explanations for how I am. The way things are. If it’s one thing I hate, it’s being vulnerable, clueless, helpless, and being left wide open.

No, it doesn’t mean I’m fucked up, I’m crazy, or I’m any sort of different person. What it means is it’s just another hurdle I have to overcome, another thing that’s going to test my strength. The disorder also comes from the trauma I have experienced in my life, and in the last nine years, it’s been a lot-so it surprises me I am not a wreck most of the time. Turns out I’m actually stronger than I ever thought, and I am able to function somewhat normally.


I expected to have to carry one label, not six. Having six different diagnoses tends to make anyone wonder if they’re fucked up. I know I’m not crazy, but it’s not something I’m going to advertise to the rest of the world. I made that mistake once. The response I got was “Isn’t that a psychological disease? You’ll be okay. There’s plenty of help outside the professional. You have people who love and care about you. You’ll get better.” Never again. It doesn't change me as a person. I'm still me.

Junior year has almost ended. It’s been a hell of a ride. You want to know how it feels to be a college student coping with a disability and trying to finish everything on time? It’s hard. Sometimes I struggle to find even one iota of concentration. Some days I just don’t want to do it anymore. Having AD-HD like tendencies makes it difficult to sit still for hours on end, for class after class. My attention gets diverted in the shortest amount of time. I wish I could use my energy to focus. How would you feel if you had to fight a constant battle and grapple with your priorities on an everyday basis? Two words: It sucks.

Receiving this diagnosis wasn’t the permanent form of relief I originally perceived it to be. Instead, it just becomes another chore, and adds another to-do list to my life. Actually, it just becomes yet another secret that I have to hide. Wonderful. I already have enough of those.

Being labeled presents a whole new ballgame. The recommendations for treatment for my disorder don’t guarantee any significant solid improvements. What do they recommend for the labeled kid? Get this: cognitive behavior therapy, education on proper sleep hygiene-i.e. sleep-study, sleep log, regular habits, etc, and learn how to redirect my emotions. Piece of cake, right?

I can’t let this disorder destroy me. I’ve been through much worse than this, so I ought to be able to transition into this new idea of labels without too much difficulty, right? Perhaps. I’ve already proven that I have iron clad self-will when Life decides to bitch-slap me. So, come on labels and disorders, I’m ready to play ball. Hit me with your best shot. I dare you.

Just Like A Rose

Cultures are set within their ways, and to the outside world anything different seems foreign, “alien,” or sometimes, according to some, “wrong.” Like a lot of things in life, people tend to think that their way is the correct way of doing things, and for those who don’t follow the same guidelines, rules, or practices, many think they are “evil” or “corrupt.” The honest question is, who are we to judge anyone’s lifestyle?

While you may not agree with or believe in the practices of others, it is our common concept as human beings to live within a functioning world. In order to maintain a functioning world, we all have to practice the art of tolerance, or at least make an honest try. In order to practice tolerance (for a religion, race, culture, belief, etc.), we have to reach the concept of making an attempt to understand. Understand what? Life, love, passion, religion, birth, death, pain, sorrow, joy, laughter, power, weakness, greed, selflessness, honor, all these are felt and recognized by every single human being on this planet. And just as we each feel these things differently, we practice them differently as well. But that doesn’t mean any of us does it wrong. It just means that we stem from the same cloth, but it is our actions and our choices that make us the individuals. We all develop differently because we come from different environments, habitats, and atmospheres. But underneath all that difference is a common concept-we all have a free-will, and how we choose to shape and develop this will makes us into the “good” or “bad” people we are perceived to be. So, is it really our actions that define us? Perhaps.

In the honest, bare, naked truth, human rights will challenge the mind, the will, the spirit, even the soul. There are concepts to human rights that we can’t even pretend to understand. All we can do is make an attempt through study, discussion, even action. A lot of the questions raised about human rights are just what exactly are they? Are they a natural, guaranteed right? Do they differ for each person? Yes. Just as we each define our morals, values, and beliefs systems, human rights will have a different meaning for each of us. For some, human rights brings out the harsh, naked, bare truth of the cruelty, turmoil, trauma, torture, everything within the true ugliness of the world. No, we, as a society don’t like to think of the ugliness of the world, but of it’s beauty, wonder, and magnificence. We like to see it as one of endless possibilities and goodness. While yes, in some areas it is all those pleasant things, the reality is that there is also ugliness in this world. Much of it remains in the darkness, and only through exploration, perseverance, and countless risks is the truth brought to light.

Some people on this earth hold a passion and an understanding for human rights that others do not share. Perhaps it is because of their own pasts, possibly twist, secret, hidden, and dark, that they feel a connection with the subject and can relate to others around the world that are experiencing the same thing. No, not all circumstances are the same, but within the rubble comes the foundation of a common ground, a sort of bonding, if you will. Not all stories are the same, just like not all of us are the same. But within each story comes the concept of very similar emotions, though they are all felt, experienced, and dealt with in different ways. Some are felt in constructive ways, others are not.

Perhaps it is for the people who have their own hidden pasts that find a passion within the controversy of human rights, and feel a relief, a connection, that finally, somewhere, someone understands. Perhaps out of all the negative experiences a person goes through, they find an inspiration that could lead them to a better, brighter future. This could be there chance to use their experiences to help others, to prevent them from feeling the same sense of suffering they had to endure for much of their lives. Just as we are given free choice in this world to be what we wish, we are given the opportunity to choose a career for our own future, perhaps through the experience of a diplomat, a politician, a soldier, or a journalist who advocates for human rights.

Just as a single rose can grow on a twisted stem, yet it is the thorns that we must avoid, for they are what causes us physical pain, it is the misinterpretation and misdeeds within the controversy of human rights that causes us emotional, physical, and psychological pain, or triumph. Our very life is a balance between time, consequence, and fate. So therefore, couldn’t it be that it is the concept of how to balance both the good and the evil on this earth that gives a true meaning to human rights and just what that means to each of us? We each were born with free will to choose who we want to be, just how we want to affect this world, and how we want to live amongst ourselves and others. Just like we were given a choice at the beginning, at the end, we are also given a choice of how we want to be remembered when we leave this life.