Under Repair

Broken, shattered, but not beyond repair. Mentally scattered, drained, deeply pained, strained and emotionally wounded. Yet, still, I remain durable, curable, regardless of if I had someone willing enough to care. Heart in critical condition, blood lost, soul filled with a hint of frost, but once again, my optimism has been spared. And though I'm scared, guarded intensely, surrounded by a density of nerves, with a propensity to run at the first sign of stress, I realize that I have been blessed to receive all of the love I once shared. Even when I was left vulnerable, bare, paired with someone who didn't give a shit, left open and alone, I have felt love. And above anything, though fleeting, delivering continuous beatings to my ego, threatening to break my self-esteem, my spirit will forever redeem itself. Love is an emotion with the strength to conquer over the anger and hate, abated these feelings that could have been repressed in the depths of my heart. And instead of allowing myself to be devoured by relationships that have turned sour, I empower myself with the love once felt. And though my past battles have left me doubting my ability to handle being hurt again, I refuse to be scorned. Even with the heavy maintenance I require and my need for refurbishing, hope transpires, seeping through my pores. I will not transfix on the fact that I still have fixing in store. Rather, I'll divert my attention to the notion that once repaired, I'll be prepared to be better than I've ever been before.

Broken Shields

Shielded, hidden behind a cloud of lies, heavily protected by the disguise I wear as I cannot bear to bare my emotions. Embarrassed by my devotion to vulunerability as my optimism won't let me free, imprisoned my my own willingness to be possessed by naivete. Longing to live life bitterly, better yet, emotion free. Instead I'm trapped internally, wrapped in an eternity of hopeful wishes as beliefs. Though grief consequently follows, the hollowed piece of me filled with images of happy endings and greater tomorrows blurs my senses, lowers my defenses, sending me down the same hurtful path. Despite the guaranteed painful aftermath, I plaster a believable smile on my face, with my sensitivities and doubts cast away, shielded by my cloud of deceit, pretending to the outside world that everything's okay.

Digression

I digress. Forcing myself into progression, for it helps with digestion of all the bullshit that continues to fall into my possession. Disloyalty and dishonesty seems to be all that's surrounding me. But I won't allow people's lack of modesty to hinder my intellectual odyssey, for I am meant to discover bigger and better things. While others are strung out on all that's gold and green, I search for what's in between, benefiting from what exploration brings. And although others fight to hamper my success, the Lord has already confessed that I am destined for greatness. Therefore, I digress. Avoiding the ignorance meant to destroy my process, redirection from the blockade that attempts to barricade my victory, bypassing the misery that longs to accompany me. For I am free. Free to digress. Relieved of all distress, FUCK the human inventions of stress, mess caused by others will no longer burden me. Its hurting me, plaguing me like a disease. But I refuse to be displeased my your nonsense. No offense, but I am blessed. Therefore my achievements cannot be compressed by your detest. And this empowers me just enough to digress.

The Price of Freedom

Freedom, but its to my own demise, as I can't disguise that I'm secretly trapped in the compartments of my own mind. Redefining what it means to be contained cause though my body is free, my soul is restrained, estranged, as I can't escape my own thoughts, with this new-found freedom, my mind is lost, exhausted from the constant struggle of this tug of war that befuddles me. Caught between a dream and reality that I cannot decode. On the road to redemption, attempting to free myself from this condemned state that I continue to face.

Befuddled

Incessant game of cat and mouse, Constantly give and give and give all the while you repeatedly take Take TAKE. Until I'm just about to break, renounce my efforts and leave....bounce. And then you the smallest of things, rekindle my faith, revitalizing what I once believed was crushed, face flushed as I can't help but be flustered by theses circumstances, restraining my wishes to be demanding and command some sort of consistency. The constant struggle of juggling your desire to be distant, while close, it puzzles me. Befuddled by the ambiguous possibilities. Containing my hate of the instability. Forced to accept the disability our relationship faces, yet collapsing under the strain. I don't mean to complain but there's a limit to the amount of stress one can take, let alone maintain, and I'm teetering on the edge, shaking.

The Con Artist

The art of deception.
Altering one's perception,
creating a fallacious conception of one's self in efforts
to manipulate someone else.
Causing others to contemplate their values,
doubt themselves,
in lieu of the lies that someone else feeds them.
Extreme selfishness,
refusal to take heed of the distress caused.
Tangling victims in a web of fraudulence,
held hostage by dishonesty.
Constantly devising little white lies
to keep the disguise alive.
So caught in a sea of lies
that no one's longer capable of recognizing the truth,
hidden far behind the mask one wears.
Leaving despair amongst those
whose paths are crossed,
lost.
So doused in one's own trickery,
the primary believer of one's own invalidity.

Self-Control

Hand over mouth, pillow over eyes, holding in shallow gasps for air, attempting to silence her cries. She refuses to allow this confusion to obtain retribution on her mind. Sorrows refined, sadness hidden, for showing any signs of distress is forbidden. All animosity concealed, feelings of anxiety and apprehension is prohibited, and cannot be revealed. Fighting sensitivity as this girl has the propensity to succumb to the negativity that encumbers her soul. Thoughts of angst growing old, replaced with false feelings of complacence as she pretends to embrace the optimistic lifestyle. Outside she smiles though absolutely mortified, her positivity falsified as she cries on the inside. Her emotions aren't designed for these sort of lies. An amateur master of disguise as although one can sense the secrets she hides, no one can't fathom what...or why. Overcome with pride, she repudiates everyone's attempts to help, pry. Personal venting unestablished, denied. Admitting defeat means being victimized by the demons of her own mind. Instead, emotions are repressed, barricaded, ignored, dictated, and a facade of nonchalance is created. An image of serenity displayed, composure and tranquility portrayed, blanketing the torment that's hidden away.