273. Life is an Abuser

woman in depression

Life is an abuser,

And I, his unwilling victim.

Everyone tells me I’m wrong.

I should give in,

And go along.

Life is an abuser.

He hurts me all the time.

Everyone tells me to like it.

I should enjoy,

And commit.

Life is an abuser,

And I should love my abuser.

Everyone says I have to,

If I want love,

And acceptance too.

Life is an abuser,

He tells me I’m ungrateful,

And guilts me into staying,

And taking it,….

And praying.

Life is an abuser.

I sit in the corner and chant….

It’s okay….okay….okay….okay…,

But don’t believe it….

Not today.

Life is an abuser.

I tire of being his toy.

He loves to mess with my head.

It hurts so much,

I wish I were dead.

Life is an abuser,

And I, his unwilling victim.

Everyone tells me it’s okay,

But it is not…….NO…..Not today!

K. Aldaya,  6/16/14

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.kuramamagazine.com/images/suicidal%20girl.jpg

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272. Societal Denial

34-Gothic-1280x1024-81205

“I want to live”, I said,

To the stranger beside me.

“So, we can go together”, she said.

I nodded, to agree.

“Yes, here we are already dead”.

We drove until the cops appeared;

In many places eyeing us.

We knew when they appeared,

They were onto us;

So I quickly down-geared.

The only way is past this place,

To the other side it goes.

Through the rooms of this place.

Can we escape? Who knows?

But there’s no choice.  We race!

We ducked into an empty room,

With a small window at the end.

Hanging there—feelings of gloom,

In forms of guns to portend,

Would soon lead us to our doom.

We continued on and finally found,

The room of our escape.

We ran and I jumped out and found,

Myself alone in the escape.

My friend could not be found.

It was too late to turn back.

I had to make a break for it.

A cop was there and would attack.

Ran,…but with no hope soon quit,

To protect from the coming smack.

Curled on the ground I waited,

Shaking for fear of humankind.

A sentence won’t be abated,

For reasons held in my mind.

I knew, if caught, I would be hated.

I would be hurt for leaving;

For trying to live and escape fate.

I knew I would be receiving,

More abuse for running from fate.

I waited in dust for the grieving.

When there again, I saw my friend,

And she walked up to me, and I….

I stood and she stepped-in to lend,

Her anger, and voice, to try,….

To get the cop to comprehend.

“You do not understand”, I yelled.

“I have to get away from here”.

“If I am to live just once”, I yelled,

“I have to fight against my fear”.

“Hiding is its’ own hell!”

“Hiding from the truths that are,

Has kept me safe for awhile,

But one can’t hide: not close or far,

From the life-long mile;

Without a life-long scar.”

The cop listened and then of course,

He did his duty and tackled me.

My hands cuffed behind with force.

I’d found more misery,

By running off the course.

The course, for me, the world set.

And there are rules in this place,

Which one cannot change or forget;

Or be labelled ‘criminal’ or ‘basket-case’,

With a lifetime of shame and regret.

But the cops are just doing their work,

And the masses just shuffling along;

And the lost longingly lurk,

In the shadows just drifting along.

No salvation.  Always the jerk.

Plaguing the system with a wailing, sad-song.

Cop: “If you had just stayed hidden,

We could have all gotten along.”

K. Aldaya  6/9/14

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://dark.pozadia.org/images/wallpapers/34-Gothic-1280×1024-81205.jpeg