Untitled - 12/30/96 (at 14)

When the air hurts

too much to taste

or feel or touch

then blood crystalizes

and feelings are such

that no one feels at all

and no one takes the time to call

Everything is in the mind of the beholder

Lies are not born;

they just keep getting older

This poem speaks to the sense of betrayal ACoAs have. The reality of what I felt and observed didn't match the messages I received from my parents. I was told that our family was happy, that there weren't any problems, and furthermore, if I didn't agree, that I had a problem. Because of denial, and the family's need to cover up the problem with a capital P, it felt as though I was living a lie, and quite literally we all were.

over the years - written 5-18-99 (at 16)

I had forgotten
the blows you dealt me
the blows you dealt me
over the years
it hurts to remember
it numbs to forget
i had forgotten
over the years

Truth Kills - written 1/27/97 (at 14)

Exhaustion
stubborn limbs
lying in
without a sin
taking out
what i wanted to win
leaving everywhere
i've been

without a thought
or even a mind
i blocked the wind
i blocked your kind
i took off all the
feelings scarring me
slipped out of a
familiar suit
wanted everything
to be
the way it was
without the truth

Capacity - sometime in junior high (at 11-13)

The tears will easily wash away
But the pain always remains
Filling me up with emptiness
Everywhere it goes, it stains

Bleeding from the inside out
Hollow and incomplete
Conspicuous and abstract
If only it were discreet

They say the sun will always shine
The moon will always glow
But perhaps for a Time
In search of nothing they will go

I was obsessed with the sun and moon around this age. I wallpapered my room in sun and moon patterns, bought journals with the sun and moon on the covers, and wrote about it a lot. I'm trying to figure out what that was all about. I'm thinking something about a mother and father to me or some consistency in my life that they provided... I don't know. I'm still sitting on that one.

Untitled - written 1/20/1997 (At 14)

So much emotion,
so many pleasures,
that i can't feel
because they cancelled
each other out,
and i wanted them
but couldn't take
needed them,
for my sake.

This poem was written when I was 14, but it reminds me of something that happenned when I was in college. I lived in the dorms the freshman year and then sophomore year I signed up to live with 3 other friends in on-campus apartments. There was a tight lottery system because there were far more students than apartments. We got an early pick, but we wanted one of the best apartments on campus, with views of the canyon. When it was our turn to choose, we didn't know if our pick would be taken. The moderator of this whole process announced that it was available and my 3 girl friends started screeching with joy and jumping up and down. I stood there watching them, perplexed. One of my friends exclaimed, "Aren't you excited?" And I said yes, but I'm not sure that I really was. That unabashed, girlish enthusiasm is not something that I expressed as a child, so it certainly doesn't come easily to me as an adult.

I think I protect myself from getting too excited about things because I have a sense that anything good could so easily be taken away. I've always described myself as "chill" or able to go with the flow - no high highs or low lows - just even. Now I'm learning being able to go with the flow isn't always a good thing, especially when the "flow" is unhealthy. So much unlearning to do...

In a Time

I wrote this poem sometime in junior high. I'm always kind of amazed at how wise I seemed as a tween, and how naive I grew with time as denial sunk in deeper and deeper. This poem seems to track my more careless childhood and then identifies its abrupt ending and the onset of isolation, and ends on a note of numbness, which is where I ended up and am just now working to undo. I noticed from going through my junior high and high school poems including this one that I directed a lot of animosity and anger at my friends, blaming them for not identifying with my pain. Looking back, I feel more understanding towards them. They were just tweens and teenagers worried about boys, makeup, and what have you. It wasn't reasonable to expect that they could have supported me in what I was going through living in an alcoholic household. My parents or other adults in my life should have been the ones to recognize the pain I was in and provide support.

Note: I am preserving the formatting and typos of my old poems. I feel as though they were written by another person and it isn't my place to alter them in any way.

In a Time

In a time
the sun always shone
upon my happiness
I ran from nothing
and never cared

In a time
I listened to you
I never wanted to die
Until my life was through

Now I wish for an early ending
To come to me
Take me away from this
And somehow make them see

In a time
All that mattered
was pleasing you
With that hope shattered
Leaving everything blue

In a time
The days were short
My friends were real
Not lying chameleons
But now I can feel

The pain, no gain

When all that hurt was physical
And falling down
had a different meaning
All my thoughts are circling round
And where they stop is void
of feeling

The shallowness of not caring anymore
The waves are crashing a nonexistant shore