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 way 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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436. “We”

We work in the shadows with an air of civility,

Dropping the pants of a world undisclosed;

Where eyes vilify the skirted and clothed,

For breeding the sins of the overexposed.

We move softly in the shadows eclipsed by “the unsaid”.

With the weight of morality on our backs.

We amend with checks and our very souls,

As we drift namelessly, and fall through the cracks.

We’re the shame and mortification of being alive.

Our breasts, and sex, are man’s nature denied.

Shunned from the sun and logical discourse;

The raw…the real…the gospel lost inside…

Mirrors heedless of reflection.

K. Aldaya, 4/13/18

Picture: http://www.harbus.org/2018/what-women-want/

276. Bloody Hands

alice hysteria

Red as sun-lit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

In my hand is an old-withered rag of white,

And in my soul a battlefield,

Plays a ghostly reenactment of the costly fight.

–Bloody is the rag which tries to hide a guilty soul,

Yet bloodier are the hands which clean without a rag that’s whole.

Red are these hands and the only I have known,….

Are these hands with fresh-blood dripping…

Dripping, and dripping guilt and pain; scrubbing all alone.

Blue as restless oceans crashing to the shore,

Are the tears which crash to the earth,

Never enough to clean the hands of an old child-whore.

–Red as sunlit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

K. Aldaya, 8/19/14

Picture: Inspired by American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns; Artist Unknown; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maly49hnQp1qkuk8lo1_500.jpg

262. Mommy, Don’t Leave Me

sadness

Mommy, please don’t leave me,

I’m afraid to be alone.

I fear the darkness coming.

Please don’t leave me alone!

Mommy, I’m so afraid,

Of the shadows which follow…

Follow me, and haunt my dreams.

I feel so cold; hollow.

Mommy, I feel it’s near.

Terrified I cringe and shake.

Please don’t look at me that way….

Like I am a mistake.

Mommy, I am sorry.

Sorry I’m a haunted soul.

That you can’t stand to look at,

My sin as black as coal.

Mommy, please hold my hand.

Do not let it go and leave.

It’s coming…yes it’s coming!

There’s no more time to grieve.

Mommy, don’t go away.

I’m so afraid and I see…

A dark form is near…..so near,

I feel death’s here mommy.

Mommy, mommy, help me!

It has me…I scream and scream,

But you don’t seem to hear me.

I scream and scream…and scream.

Mommy, why did you leave?

I step and walk to you now,

And you take my bloody hand.

Mommy, can’t you see now…

How hard it is for me to stand?

Mommy, I’m so tired.

Goodnight.  I wish I could stay,

But the dead do not walk strong,

In the light of a new day.

Mommy, it is so cold;

I can’t feel your warmth at all,

And I walk when I should sleep,

Beneath the night-moons’ pall.

Mommy, I am lonely.

Endlessly walking this path.

Can I sleep forever now?

Mommy, run my blood-bath.

You won’t miss me anyhow.

K. Aldaya, 3/3/14

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://thedarkrosejournal.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/sadness.jpg

229. I Am Shame

What to do?

Tell me how to,

Lose all this fretful shame?

Suppressed and masked,

Through time in same.

In death my life has passed.

Try to bury,

In cemetery.

It haunts me in the gloom;

Whispering of sweet-death,

And trading life for doom,

With each gasping breath.

Depression724311

Try to free.

To let it be.

To get it out of me.

Truth is truth, even when,

It’s hard to have to see.

Please….don’t look at me then!

What to do?

Tell me how to,

Repel the guilt eyes’ impart?

More shame for shame;

For in letting guilt depart,

I burn in your lit-flame.

What to do?

I have no clue.

I am shame and am ashamed.

I exist whether liked or not;

Am made more when I am blamed.

For inside his body is fraught,

And is screaming from the relentless onslaught.

K. Aldaya, 05/23/12

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.mensxp.com/images/article/health/Mental_Health/Depression724311.jpg

183. Note to Self: That’s What You Get

Can_you_see_the_ghost__IV_by_Supermalade

Why can’t I forget those days?

Those lingering memories: a phase,

Of life so long since passed.

Though hours and years have flown away,

The visions burn and steadily prey,

Upon my undead soul.

None bring up, but sights remind,

That the past is well behind,

Yet still so felt and real.

Hate is there for its’ own sake;

Hating the hate that lies awake,

To chaos hope with guilt.

Hate and love both held within,

Wailing loud of selfish sin.

Who cares how things had been!

This life is hard for everyone.

Isn’t mine just another one?

Lacking a strong spirit?

Weakness and self-pity there,

Deep in my mind, create despair.

Unwarranted. Unjust.

I’m the real freak and con,

The one who cannot move on.

Who keeps evil alive.

I deserve what I feel here,

Every pain and every tear;

Figments of a horrid head.

I cannot forget those days.

Dreams and memories a haze,

Of pre-tarnished truth.

Nothing will e’er change what be,

Within a heart that cannot see,

That it should settle for,

Deserving pain forever.

K. Aldaya, 11/4/05

Picture:  “Can You See The Ghost? IV” by AlexandraSophie on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Can-you-see-the-ghost-IV-165270619

106. Crimson Corridors

2965702055_8694bda313_b

Deep inside there is a need,

To the very soul, to feed.

In echoed voices in the head,

A calling that does heed,

A relentless urge to bleed.

Crimson halls and corridors,

Endless rows of clos’ed doors.

All lead to the same end.

Self-defeating little whores,

Bleeding out scarlet abhors.

Beyond each door there lies,

A flaming heart which cries,

For unmerciless repent.

Until the vile river dries,

And the corridors’ light dies.

K. Aldaya, 11/25/04

Picture: “Corridor to Hell” by William McLaughlin on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/billmclaugh/2965702055

84. Taunting Ghosts

maxresdefault

Ghosts in the corner of your eyes,

Haunt and taunt you despite disguise.

You can’t hide what you have done,

Their tormenting has only just begun.

You can’t hide from them anywhere,

They can find you here, and find you there.

Ghostly visions of a tormented place,

Where you must ever await saving grace.

K. Aldaya, 10/10/04

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://i.ytimg.com/vi/lJarvZMi0gU/maxresdefault.jpg

82. Unspeakable

gallows_by_hornedquad-d5nby0v

I can’t even speak what I’m feeling,

And if I did I’d hurt others.

It’s best if I don’t say a thing,

To save the  life of all others.

I cannot leave, but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

I’d have to be selfish to speak out,

Since I’m the deserver of pain.

What can I do to spare all,

From seeing in what bed I’ve lain?

I cannot leave, but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

I need to somehow make two,

A me to stay and a me to go,

One to keep all others happy,

The other to seek the suns’ glow.

I cannot leave but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

I must keep fighting and hiding,

For the sake of all others near.

It’s what I always must bear,

I must silence now all of the fear.

(Cover, wipe, hide every tear!)

I cannot leave but I hurt to stay,

I just have to find me another way,

Not for tomorrow, but for this very day.

Today. Today.

K. Aldaya, 10/7/04

Picture:  “Gallows” by HORNEDQUAD on Deviant Art; http://hornedquad.deviantart.com/art/GALLOWS-341519359

60. Confliction

Did it really happen?

I  knew at the time it did,

But now I only question.

From my eyes all truth is hid.

I-Miss-You-Korean-Drama girl

My head is so confused.

Are they right about this too?

Did I over-react then or did I make up what I knew?

Their words clutter thoughts,

Making me rethink everything.

Did it happen at all or was it as they so sing?

Was it a daydream that I confused with real?

They’re right…my fault!

I deserve what I got, and feel.

Now I must forget that anything happened at all.

I must not ever show,

Hurt from hitting that brick wall.

K. Aldaya, 5/20/04

Picture: from Missing You: Actress Kim So-Hyun as 15 year old Lee Soo-yeon; https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-1S3D-ADJXzo/ULnXNr5qCqI/AAAAAAAAABU/Mw3T3ZFlPxw/I-Miss-You-Korean-Drama.jpg

51. Hate

Broken-Reflection-web

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much!

You have horrible right in your clutch.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you now more,

Than any of the other times before.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, you freak!

You are too frightened and too weak.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you ’cause you,

Are never good in anything you do.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you for when,

You sinned so greatly back then.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you because,

You don’t think as everyone else does.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Just Leave.

Go ahead, hide, and grieve.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you for thoughts,

In which you can change past plots.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you for never,

Will you find atonement for what you’ve done whatsoever.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Keep crying,

For no one will care for the soul dying.

K. Aldaya, 3/22/04

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://fstoppers.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/Broken-Reflection-web.jpg

34. Me and I

Girl in Mirror (3)

“Me”, said I. “I have some questions to ask. Do you think you can handle the task?”

Well, just go ahead.

“Why do you wish to be dead”?

“Do you feel somehow unfit”?

There is no forgiveness I can give myself,

Though a ‘God’ can forgive and put me top-shelf.

My guilt is of my origin and of my sin.

That is why I cannot die,

‘Cause my faults would fall on some other guy.

That isn’t the way it should work, I’m the jerk!

I deserve to be punished.

Only me.

So I have to live for now to, to repent, don’t you see?

K. Aldaya, 4/23/03

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://2.bp.blogspot.com/–ydY9rQvOxI/ULQ5VxTYYtI/AAAAAAAAOrk/zS4KfHsX7B0/s640/Girl+in+Mirror+%283%29.jpg