mental martyr

30+ | she/they | writing blog

[mental-martyr]

self love and patience.

angry, angry, seething, feeling 

asking why you were chosen to 

take the mantle of a mental martyr 

who doesn’t even want to perish 

for their people.

but you were graced by it

and you were ordered to crawl on all fours 

instead of running

to feel every jagged pebble 

digging into your dirty

bloodied palms

instead of using your

goddamn feet like the common folk

perfectly functioning

and yet still paralyzed somehow

some form of ghost pain with your limbs intact.

and it wants you to bleed your way to the top 

to teach you it is all worth it in the end. 

because what is a little learning without suffering 

what is a reward without a price. 

it wanted nothing more than to hurt you, in the end. 

you feel its betrayal. 

it hurts.

it hurts so bad. 

dear you and me 

you may be angry and upset now 

but you will make it to new pastures

and learn a thing or two. 

your cage was never closed 

i never locked you in

there was no betrayal

no malicious agenda

no paralyzation, on my part

all you need

is the courage to walk through it. 

i love you, even if i torment you

i love you so much, and i want to see you grow.

it gets hard to see that, in your eyes.

i know this

i understand this

and i am patient.

you will learn what’s necessary in time

and i will be by your side.

beginning and present, it hurts, you’re so terrible to me

but i can’t help but love you till i can’t breathe. 

i’ve loved you as a child, i love you as you are.

lonely, underdeveloped, and wise, 

you are precious to me 

it gets hard to see that

almost like a secret 

we never knew until now.

but you want what’s best for me 

i’m sorry i keep forgetting

i’m sorry 

that my brain keeps breaking

and i’m sorry

that i might hate you again. 

it never did

there is nothing broken

no apology needed

no girl that will stay defeated

you can hate me

and love me

you can do anything 

as long as you slowly move

you are okay.

you are okay.

you will be okay now 

and you will be okay tomorrow.

just hang in there

hold my hand

i will be here.

[mental-martyr]

How does this “flow” work?

What bucket of mine should I pour

to make words that make sense

and let the ride of imperfection 

take me without flinching

without needing a pat on my head?

And here goes,

an existential crisis:

The world is too vast, and my size is a tiny droplet of it. 

My mind tries to reach beyond its own capability, beyond the knowledge of man and its neurological limitations, beyond humanity.

And a headache comes, and a darkness spreads within. 

I stop it before my brain melts to the floor. Before I see too much of what I shouldn’t. (Not divine enough. Not enough to know its secrets. A tiny droplet isn’t divine, it only trickles and falls when its time comes.)

If I could only see the world through my creator’s eyes, maybe then I could finally be at peace, with the inevitable nothing of it all, instead of searching for meaningless meaning in a meaningless rock on a meaningless universe and a meaningless purpose (Is it meaningless? Maybe check again.) and my brain hurts, and I stop. 

I haven’t learned how to see the beauty of it all, 

the peace without meeting who created its concept,

the acceptance of inevitability, 

but I’d like to try. 

[mental-martyr]

Black Tar

Black tar far too big for my body

Heavy and breathless

Would like to scratch it out 

Scratch it out 

Deepen the nail and let it pour out 

Just to lighten the load 

Lighten the pressure

 Pour too much and,

My feet get stained in black 

Making prints on each pebble that I 

Graze and touch

Down the road of what may or may not be

And my shriek 

If fate lifts the ax and wants to mess with me 

(Please don’t; only so much I can take, please please-) 

Black tar far too big for my body 

Black tar far too big for my body

Black tar far too big for my body 

Too much. Too fucking much for my being. 

Let me go. 

[mental-martyr]

knowing too much

you've now reached a painful realization. 

a rather, intrusive comprehension. 

that this is it. 

this is all there is. 

and you wanted the world to mean something. you wanted your cells to mean something. you wanted you wanted you wanted. and what you know you wish you could erase. and what you've gained you wish you could change. and what you’ve tailed you wish it hadn't slip. and what you've lost you wish it had tightened its grip. 

and this is it. 

the very culmination of humanity. 

the knowing too much. 

and nothing at all.

[mental-martyr]

Dissection

Tradition encased in violation 

How dare you

Self proclaimed right to control

How dare you

Smug grin caked in red paint

How dare you

No compassion, No compassion

How dare you

The children are now cornered 

How dare you

A glass in their vision, restrictive

How dare you

Their reflection | Painful reminder

How dare you

That you put there in a prized bow 

How dare you

Maybe it belongs to you

How dare you

Maybe, you need a reality check

How dare you

That the only freak of nature | Monster 

How dare you 

Might just be you

How dare you

Now gaze at your face, staring back 

How dare you 

And think hard, on why this might be 

How dare you

Why you feel the need 

How dare you 

To own a child’s body 

How dare you

That is Not. Yours. 

How dare you 

How dare you 

Think hard on it

How fucking dare you. 

[mental-martyr]

Apollo

My head carries the world at its fingertips, filled with ballad symbols, the colorful archers of my childhood, the golden hour of every tune past my lips, the soft reassurance that tenderly cradles my existence.

[mental-martyr]

Athena

Priding oneself in their intelligence,

can be awfully tricky.

You aren't sure whether the heart of it, lies in the stoicism,

the apathy.

Or the emotionality,  

the painful understanding of your fellow human.

[mental-martyr]

Poseidon

Ground Shaker, why do you cry so profusely?

Why does the Earth follow your every whim,

and match your trembling body?

Why do your lungs fill with water,

with every haggard breath you take?

[mental-martyr]

Artemis

There can only be sign of moonlight, 

when the heart joins the ever racing thoughts

Drums beating eager, 

and frantic inside your head

Animality ripped out of you 

with brutal, barbaric force

And the hunger now spreads 

For something other than you

For something other than this.

[mental-martyr]

disconnection

she stands in the face of a cold, calculating nothing.

and much like a face it resembles, but frankly, it isn’t.

and much like the ground feels solid under her feet, but frankly, it doesn’t.

and much like she feels real under the moonlight, but frankly, she isn’t.  

i (don’t) exist. 

[mental-martyr]

Nighttime

Tired eyes and soft murmurs. The absence of light buries the neighborhood beneath the cold winds. You are the lone shadow that looms freely, a lifelong friend of the moon and a trusted confidant, and yet . . . a weight. So very heavy, like a groaning wooden house taking shelter on your back. Pushing. Pushing down.

And in that home. Melancholy. In you. Its true body you face, made out of stars that light up the darkness. It echoes broken laughter, with every gasp you watch as its tears pool down its cheeks. With every breath you imitate it yourself. The bare sorrow of living and feeling, before it welcomes the fiery blaze of tomorrow. Its other temperamental half on the other side of the galaxy.

But until that moment comes, until you relish the silence, and the honey coated glass shifting the brown in your gaze,

You really. really fucking hate the night.

[mental-martyr]

Half Asleep

They float above,

in mid-air, 

with a hazy heart and mind.

And only the moon,

to call a friend, 

with no calibration to climb.  

It turns out, 

there is no escaping the rain.

Not a single drop, 

to barely keep them sane. 

But even then, 

they don’t move from the pain.

They’re a sloth,

with a rittly,

rattly brain. 

They live half asleep, 

and never make a sound,

never dreaming of the cold, harsh ground.

If they look down below,

 and carefully tilt their head,

they can almost see their body, 

faded in a pool of red. 

So they live their days, 

cold and monotone

without the strength to take a step.

But maybe one day, 

surely one day,

they’ll finally stop being a schlep. 

[mental-martyr]

Draco’s Diary Page

I spread ink all over my arm yesterday.

Nothing dangerous (I don’t harm myself or anything), it’s just a calming state of rest.

In truth, it feels cathartic to see a black stain covering my shame.

The Mark of the Miserable, I should say, colors my veins in such an ugly way, that I’ve made it pretty with my interference.

Very little can soothe me these days, it’s the fleeting comforts that drive me further into sanity, it’s the paper thin determination, to never crumble in front of those who are left.

It’s my mother begging me to live normally, it’s my father rotting in a cell, and never seeing the light of day again. And so I live on, and on, and on, and he slowly dies little by little by little. 

I breathe unevenly and I hurt. Despite my cool appearances, I still break, and I still weep. But you’ve seen through my every facade, haven’t you, Potter? You   s e e me and I can’t help but curl into a ball, it’s too much, it’s too close, and I abhor it and feel needy all the same. 

Do you remember that night in First Year? When you rejected my hand in friendship? As devastated as I was back then (Because who wouldn’t be at eleven? And by none other than Harry Potter), I would soon go back to that than to see the horrors we’ve witnessed. I’d ask you to join me, and we would start over without the poor insults on my part. I would be good this time. I would be good for you.

This is all rather out of character of me and frankly, unbearably humiliating if these words ever got to you. This diary of mine is another semblance of sanity, and lo and behold, I ended up proclaiming my silly thoughts over you, but this time on paper. 

This will never reach you, surely, so I can say in confidence . . . that this last year at Hogwarts has turned out to be terrifying, messy, and so unimaginatively lovely thanks to you. I still struggle each day, what with my large bouts of self loathing and the loathing of others, (Though it’s well deserved) but you continue to lend me moments of peace, and for that I am profoundly grateful. You’ve made me feel important in your life, and I can be candid when I say that you are just as important to me. 

There I go again. Ugh, I am disgusting, truly. I’ll have to burn this diary by the end of this. 

Nevertheless, I will continue to write until I have nothing else to shout into the void. And I hope to feel safe next to you just a bit longer, if you’ll let me. (I didn’t think you would be that warm, you’re so warm I could curl up next to you the entire day. Merlin, just have me for as long as you can, I beg.)

All my love and general confusion towards my hopeful outcome, 

Draco

[mental-martyr]

; ; ;

Que triste sería el luchar por tu alma

lo que te llama por el desierto cruel

y no llegar con tus pies desgarrados 

al alcanzar el agua puro del río.

Para llegar a tu fin

pues bien prepárate en sí amigo

grita de llantos y aprende lo que es el miedo

lo que es el arte de sufrir

lo que es sonreir

y lo que es vivir.

[mental-martyr]

When The Earth Stills

When will it be the time I let go of this, I wonder

I can count dread like I can count each day, I can count our pleasant enough moments and my restless mind rambling, “This was a good choice. And now we are friends. This was a good choice. This was a good choice.”

And now I have been torn in two,

three,

four from the impact of it

(if you say it a hundred times you might be happy … “this was a--”)

Crash and burn but I let it, because it’s the best thing, waiting for a car to strike against another and hope that you expect it, hope that it will hurt less that way.

When will it be the time I let go of you, I wonder

When the earth finally stills one day from a single announcement, the hardship of seeing a new gem of yours, unknowingly taking my place

And you say they wouldn’t but ohh, my darling dear … sweetheart, they would.

And so I will flee and protect my sanity

And so I will be done with this charade of ours

I have an iron heart that will destroy the most precious of things, so long as I come out of this alive

If you see me too sparse, too little, or nowhere at all,

know that I saved myself from you, and I’ve chosen to be a distant memory, or a monster, depending on how much you’d clutch onto me, with nail markings painting my color, I will tear us both apart if it means protecting me,

(and in the end, protecting you as well)

and that is just the way it is.  

If you aren’t cold enough to make the plunge, then I will take that burden off our hands.  

This is the best thing sweetheart, don’t look so sad, chin up yes? Just like I will too in the long run.

I was always the hatchet in this relationship, in words, in character.

You will thank me for it one day.

[mental-martyr]

Slytherin

O, mighty serpents with your cunning and brains

You’ll live a rewarding life with the purity of your legacy

The fearsome way that you lie and deceive

A dark beauty that you are. Yes, oh yes

S s s l i d i n g across the ravine and biting what’s keeping you from your prize

Oh, a hundred times yes

You live to serve yourself and to protect those that move you, that strip you bare, that come home to you

A sharp, forked tongue that will ruin you and carry you to power all at once

Why, you take pleasure in your own destruction, don’t you? 

Your own darkness, don’t you?

Something satisfying in the way your mind plays tricks on you

But it’s all relative for you, is it not?

At the root of it all, you will love and hate your own undoing

Faithful snakes are, if not, a prisoner to their theatrical melodrama

Come hell or high water, they absolutely love it.

[mental-martyr]

Ravenclaw

Every mountain and every cloud

A testament to how an eagle cerulean soars through the wind

Higher and higher

Till a pool of water covers the horizons

Till your heart races and your mind can’t take any more

Oh . . . but you still fit it inside you somehow

You still hope for more

You treat your brain just as the weight of the world doesn’t end

Just as the neurons explode and regrow for there is no end

There is no beginning

A crescendo you will always be and a devastating blue

You . . . Wonderful you

Always thinking

Always wondering

Never taking a breath

Forever questioning

Forever feeling

Forever creating

Forever dying and re-birthing

And in the end,

You still have time to be compassionate

One neuron left to set off your newfound knowledge

To affect those around you

And where such catalytic events take place, your heart and mind will be

That is the way of a Ravenclaw.