441. PTSD

The world is so busying telling me,

How I should feel and who I should be,

That it’s never, even once, stopped to think,

Whether I’m not exactly who I’m meant to be.

Maybe I will never be like you.

Maybe I’m not supposed to.

Maybe asking me to be something else,

Is the reason I can’t get through.

Maybe I would be okay,

If the world accepted what’s different.

Though, no matter how accepting it claims to be,

Some of us leave too much of an imprint.

We make a mess. Stand out too much.

Cops trail us and build up a case.

“It’s odd you were at the crime scene,

Even odder that your prints were all over the place!

Guilty by association, my child.

You’re guilty for showing-up: time and again.

You’re a victim, but perhaps an accomplice as well.

Did you not know it would drive you insane?

Now you are just as responsible.

Only criminals return to the crime!

You could have been normal…like us,

Instead, you’ve wasted this courts precious time.”

Yet, if we may speak to this court, sir.

We feel guilty and shameful each day,…

That we haven’t moved on…couldn’t move on…

And fell down, and apart, and astray.

We didn’t know how. We still don’t know now,

How to escape from that place,

Though if we could one day do so,

As you’ve stated, we’ve already left our trace;

A trace of guilt. A trace of our crimes,…

Of guilt by association.

No matter what we may say to these crimes,

The world will ne’er forgive the implication.

The implication that we are criminals.

That not being like you. Not living like you,

Is a bloody-bed of our own making;

For there’s only acceptance for crimes you live through,

But ones which stay, fester, and remain,

Which turn us wretched, and drive us insane,

Are the ones which society won’t accept.

And refuse to consider,…o’erlooking the brain.

Yes, the world is so busy telling me,

How I should feel and who I should be,

Yet has it ever wondered why we’re not free,

To be who life has made us to be?

No, I am not like you or them,

And no, I will never be in the end;

Though just because I am different,

Must I be rejected ’til the end?

Placed up on trial again, and again to defend…

Why I am the why I am?

I’m a lifetime of sounds and sights you can’t see.

Yet, men like to spurn what they don’t understand,

And charge for the crime of PTSD.

K. Aldaya, 5/23/18

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438. Doppelganger

I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t want to know,

The secrets and the truths held,

Deep within your eyes…and although,

I see you near to me. I’m afraid to glance your way.

For how can one save the lost;

Trapped in a time far away?

I can not speak of the horror; Only of the screams.

I hear them slip through your lips,

And besiege me in my dreams.

I’m sorry I left you there; In that place, all alone…

Where the clock’s forever stuck,

At quarter-past “never-known”.

–I stand atop a dark stairway. I see you below,

And as your eyes look my way,

I spy a looming shadow;

And as the shadow passes o’er, our eyes, they fin’lly meet.

I know I can not save you,

So once again I retreat.–

I didn’t recognize, ’cause I didn’t want to know,

That the girl in the mirror,

Had the same bleak eyes which show…

The anguish of a child betrayed. A child left behind…

Deserted and forsaken,

In the corners of my mind.

K. Aldaya, 4/27/18

Picture: Vintage image used in the book “Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children” by Ransom Riggs; https://www.pinterest.com/pin/330522060122327068/

426. No One

When I needed a hand, no one was around.

When I bled out my pain, no one ever cared.

When I needed an ear, no one ever listened.

When I cried myself to sleep, no one was awake.

When I needed a hug, no one ever held me.

When I was alone and scared, no one ever came.

Yes, I’ve always been needy…

And “No One” is my name.

K. Aldaya, 1/31/18

398. I…I Don’t Want to Die

I…I don’t want to die.

“But you are broken, you say?

The only way to fix you,

Is for you to simply die,

And be reborn as someone new.”

I…I don’t want to die.

I know that I am broken,

And that’s all you can see;

Yet, why do I have to die,

For you to be able to love me?

I…I don’t want to die.

Do I really have no worth?

Am I something to be tossed,

And left all alone to die?

Am I truly one of the lost?

I…I don’t want to die.

I just want you to stay here;

To hold me close and tell me,

That I do not have to die,

For you to see me as worthy.

For you to be able to love me…

I…I don’t want to die.

K. Aldaya, 5/29/17

Picture: from Sherlock; http://pharlapcartoonist.tumblr.com/

397. Go to the Water

Flow. Flow. Flow in the water.

Tears flowing forth.

Time runs it’s course,

In the flowing forth of words from mouths.

Nothing but a freak.

A child: lost and meek,

Cursed to bear the cost of others’ sorrows.

Fates can not be changed.

Experiences rearranged.

Once set into motion it continues.

Flow. Flow. Flow in the water.

“Kill yourself today.

You’re in everybody’s way.

Why can’t you see your fate is sealed.

No one wants you here.

Curse’s won’t disappear.

Why must you fight the flowing of the water.”

The window is ajar,

And beyond is just a bar.

One step and then it will all be over.

Flow. Flow. Flow in the water.

Nobody will stop you.

You know what you must do.

Look down into the darkness of the water.

Their eyes are looking up.

Go on, they’ve had enough.

It will only hurt a little longer.

Legs break in the fall.

Nobody cares at all.

They watch you with the coldness of the water.

Flow. Flow. Flow in the water.

Crawl to the boat’s tip.

Take a little slip.

Fall down face first into shivering water.

Can not swim away.

Lungs fill up straight away.

Choke upon the apathy of strangers.

Bodies soon grow cold,

As souls release their hold,

And all that’s left’s another child forgotten.

Flow. Flow. Flow in the water.

No one speaks the name.

Life goes on just the same,

As bodies drift away on the water.

Cruelty is a plague.

Apathy digs a grave,

Which buries all the outcast little children.

Flow. Flow. Flow in the water…

…Go. Go. Go to the water…

…….Go. Go. Go to the water.

K. Aldaya, 5/21/17

Picture: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22892496-dust-to-dust

269. You Don’t Want to Be Found

Artist.Request.full.1409528

I tried to find you,

But you don’t want to be found.

I wanted to love you,

But you don’t know what love is.

I want to forgive,

But you will never let me.

I wish you could just give…

A reason for rejection.

I tried to find you,

But you don’t want to be found;

So tonight, I hugged you,

In my dreams, there, you were found,…

And you still hated it.

K. Aldaya, 5/1/14

Picture: Artist Unknown; Added by IChigo Kurosaki on Zero Chan; http://www.zerochan.net/1652887

266. A Rhyming Poem About Rhyming Poems

_dancer_in_the_dark_III__by_Rijama

I’ve heard rhyme is obsolete,

And that it is a bore.

Poems in rhyme are tedious;

And furthermore they fuss,

“The quality: poor”.

Those pretentious elitists.

I don’t care what they say.

Rhyming is just what I do;

And I will continue to,

Write them out this way.

I will continue to write,

Though they will not publish.

They can say it’s pathetic.

Yes, in the head I’m thick.

Do as you so wish.

Why is the rhyme more important,

Than what my poems express?

The depth of what I’m saying?

Hear what I’m conveying;

Perceive and possess!

Rhyme is not some silly skill;

It is a song to me.

I hear it inside beating….beating….

Like my life-force greeting….through words…singing,

And I’m free!

K.Aldaya, 4/6/14

Picture: “Dancer in the Dark III” by Rijama on Deviant Art; http://rijama.deviantart.com/art/dancer-in-the-dark-III-88379195

207. I Waited, Yet You Did Not Come

BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFmZBaVpCbXZRM3hHZFVtMzAtaDhuWlEAAAACaWQKAXgAAAAEc2l6ZQ

I waited, yet you did not come.

I wondered why, when it was done.

‘Twas too late for regrets.

‘Twas too late for the sun,

To shine and luminate darks’ frets.

I waited, yet you did not come.

I wonder why, now that it’s done.

Where were you when I cried…for comfort,

And from the one…,

From the one I love and hold?

O’ where were you, my love, my love,

When I died?

K. Aldaya, 01/23/07

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-set/BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFmZBaVpCbXZRM3hHZFVtMzAtaDhuWlEAAAACaWQKAXgAAAAEc2l6ZQ.jpg

187. What a Fraud!

alone-heart-sad-Favim.com-225105

I deeply hate you for your lies,

You told me that you cared for me,

But as I know well, love dies;

If there was ever such a thing,

Beyond the ageless cries.

How can you laugh and enjoy,

The pained days given forth.

Like a vile soul envoy,

That kills the hope of more.

No I’m not some f***ing toy!

Though thrown out as a whore.

What did I do to deserve,

Being a pawn you play,

To win a better hand serve,

By use of a body:

Simply a first observe,

By one, cold and haughty.

K. Aldaya, 11/21/05

Picture:  Originally from http://fuckyeahtumblraddict.tumblr.com/; Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/225105/

149. Unlovable

parental-rejection

I’ve heard of this thing called love.

I like to believe I know how it feels,

Though know of no such love,

Carried deep and pained for me,

Though I’ve been burdened long for thee.

Hast thou seen no thing called love,

Within thy heart for me?

Yes, thou has seen no such love,

Deep in me…just loveless pains,

For without love my heart vast wanes.

What tortured passion is this love,

To show forth what it be,

And then again this thing called love,

Disappears and is not felt,

Abandoning the hopeful heart in which it dwelt.

I’ve heard of this thing called love,

I like to think I know of it well,

Though know of no such love,

Carried for me, ever by thee,

Though I’ve been burdened long in hope’s of some love from thee.

K. Aldaya, 6/28/05

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; Originally from Getty Images; http://www.zawaj.com/askbilqis/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/parental-rejection.jpg