The Tiny Poet

I fall, I wallow, I rise, I write.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“He tells me he wishes he doesn't have to go

But he still leaves

I paint my walls green while he was away

Because green remains me of life

I want to fill our home with life

But my womb is barren

And his schedule is full

So am alone most nights

With paint on my hands

Hoping I create someone from nothing

Thinking maybe it will make him stay

Thinking it will make me feel ok when he doesn't

But at the end of the day

He doesn't care much for the walls cause he's not here enough to notice

And I hate the shade I picked.”

-tell me I’m not cursed for hollow bones, tell me these walls are not to remain empty.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“I daydream often of burying my mother alive.

So that every time she screams for air

She choked on dirt

And it fills her lungs

Squeezing her chest with the weight of every pled for help

I want her to feel like I felt my whole life.

I want her to know her words are useless

And that no one is coming to help her.

I imagine shovel full after shovel full

Going over her until all I am left with is

A mountain of mommy issues.”

- does anyone actually like their birthday or that just another thing trauma has taken from me?

[paintedgreypoetry]

“Another empty Christmas Eve

I go out to feel something other then hollow

It’s raining so all the snow everyone wished for is dirty and melted 

I try to find something to fill me

But even Wendy’s is closed

So I just drive back to a dark home

Feeling more broken then before.

It’s just a Thursday but all my favorite places are shut down

No lights no trees

I’d cry but what’s the point if nobody gonna wipe them”

- there is nothing special when you aren’t loved

[paintedgreypoetry]

“I have come to the conclusion that there is a difference between accepting someone and tolerating them.

Do you accept me unconditionally? 

Or do you love me on the condition that one day I might change?

Do you accept my scars or are you tolerating my pain on the condition that one day it might heal?

Assuredly I say I will never be whole. 

Not not in a depressing way but in a realistic one;

The things my father did to me the parts he had squeezed off and buried in my childhood I will never get them back

But know I have learned to live without them. 

I want you to love the absent spaces without wanting to fill them. 

If you come into my heart and are uncomfortable with the darkness that tends to thunder around I would ask you not to try and light it up. Sometimes the darkness is just that... a shift night that balances out the day. 

Will you accept that my fires will always rage in me. The anger I hold in my soul has no intention of being smothered. 

And if you cannot handle the smoke I would ask you to kindly leave with empathy and not like a firefighter. 

The fires are well-deserved walls to protect this heart from men whom once tried to break me with hard hands and poisoned lips.

So before you love me please understand that this body will not stand to just be tolerated. It has survived life long winters of neglect on the principle that once I was old enough it would move on to other seasons. 

Do you accept me for all the sharp chips on my shoulder;

Or do you tolerate the edges on the basis that you can sand them one day?”

- If not... well that’s ok. 

Wild women have learned to live without love.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“He reminds me of the ocean; like the tide whenever he leaves, I have the assurance in time he will float back. But like sand on the ocean floor, he is never same.

I have come to love his lunar ways, the fickle nature that ebbs and flows with the moon. The timely yet chaotic way he washes through my life. I love him for his waves. I love that he drifts out with flux of nature because I think it’s peaceful to watch his natural flow around the world.

I love the most that while he reminds me of the wild and willful ocean, that is in constant motion- he loves me for being the shore. The beach that remains. He loves that I need the solitude his departure leaves, And he has the confidence that I will be there when he ready to come back. The ocean needs the shore. He needs me. It is the nature of life.

He is the water and I am the dirt.I love his authenticity, he is who he is; it’s easier to swim with the current then away from it. I don’t change the sea and he leaves the land how it is; but we allow the crash at shore, our chance meetings when the tide lines up.”

~ a love letter from an introvert to her extroverted lover.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“He is not the type of fire that keeps you warm at night.

He is a blazing roar of flames so large

That it’s awe-striking because of the sheer force of his destruction.

He is not the type of fire that glows in a cold night.

He is sweat and grim.

He is flames licking at your spine as it makes it way inside of your body,

Burning your skin till you feel the heat of his intensity;

If only to distract you from the ashes he will inevitably leave in his wake.

He is not the type of fire that lights the way

His flame only illuminates the path of self ruin.

He is bright.

He is shining.

He is too hot to hold.

He is the sun and you are Icrus.

He is not the type of flame that you can keep tame.

He is the flame that will engulf everything you love; he will destroy every wall in your heart that kept you safe until there is nothing left in your chest.

He will leave you desolate,

He will make you bones burnt remnants

And turn your youth into nothing but smoldering ash.

No, darling, he is not the flame that will keep you warm.

He is the fire that will leave you cold.

He will leave you shivering alone, with out a light to see what to next.

He is the fire that will leave you praying for rain.”

- and after everything you will be nothing but a smoke signal for his next causality.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“I am waiting for the quiet

The quiet that comes with peace and comfort.

I have never been comfortable

Not to my knowledge.

I remember the bed in my childhood

It came from an institution for some kind

And felt like it

Rubber mattress

And metal chain link barrier to the bottom bunk.

I have never been one for sleep.

Peace at night never came for me.

I was always so aware of the squeaks

I was always waiting for someone to come through the bedroom door.

There was a time when the man touched me.

It was uncomfortable.

The wood floors and walls trapping me under him.

I remember the feeling

But not what he did.

I’m still waiting for the peace and comfort people say comes from the passing of time.

I’m waiting for the bruises that my father made on my soul to fade,

They are still tender to touch

They still ache when people come to close to me.

I’m waiting for the quiet.

But not the silence of being abandoned

I want peace and quiet.

Im not sure it exists

But I rather like the idea of it.

It seems fruitless to wait for something that might not exist

Yet I keep watering the tree that may or may not bud.

It’s spring here in the north

It doesn’t feel like it through.

Snow still covers what ever plants are trying to sprout.

It’s still cold.

Death and decay still bristle in the wind.

There is quiet in the woods but it doesn’t feel peaceful,

It has that nipping scent to it

The one that makes one turn up the collar of a coat and hurry to warmth.

I feel like much of what I’ve done has been to out run the nipping cold that chases my heels.

There is no fire big enough to defrost the trauma that billows like a never ending snow storm.

Yet I keep stoking the fire.

I am looking for peace and quiet.

I’m waiting for comfort.

I’m not comfortable in my body;

Anxiety has shaken the bones until they rattled from where they were meant to be.

Now they don’t feel as though they belong in my skin.

Anxiety shook my heart so badly it doesn’t feel like it belongs in me anymore,

I don’t even think I belong... not in this body

This body that quakes when the meer idea of her father enters in.

Comfort. Peace. Quiet.

I’m waiting for what world claims I deserve after surviving.

Surviving is not peace.

It’s just another war to wage.

They don’t tell you that;

It’s not the trial that hurts it’s the life you have to live after.

I wish I knew the hardest part would be living.

Most of living is just waiting for the pain to pass.

The trouble is that once one pain passes you can be damned assured another will come.

There is no rock bottom

There is just more dirt to swallow you down.

I don’t mean to sound so morbid but with so much darkness that surrounded me

I almost despise the light, it always leaves

And I’m am so sick of things leaving.

The darkness has never left, I only need to close my eyelids and it will cover me.

I just want to be in the quiet but

My mind it can’t handle it.

I envy the people who can sit with themselves in silence.

I can’t even stand the two seconds it takes for a song to change,

I’m too afraid of what will swallow my mind in those mere moments.

I don’t know what else to do.

I have tried chasing it And i was only left winded.

I cut people off and I was only left with a Christmas Eve with only myself to share it.

I tried ignoring it and the insufferable silence became louder.

I finally cried after years of dry eyes and I only hated myself more.

I stoked the flame and cold just blew it out.

I made new family and they died.

So I don’t know what else to other then just sit and wait for it to find me

Cause I am so fucking done trying to grab something that doesn’t even want me.

I guess I’ll just make a home here in the waiting and maybe one day I’ll forget just what was supposed to come.”

- I will wait for you... it’s all I can do, it’s all that I have left in me. I lost my fight and my sword has rusted. But when your ready I’ll be here.... waiting

[paintedgreypoetry]

“There is pain here

I assure you.

It’s invisible to those around me

And somehow that makes it worse.

There is pain here;

It lingers always in the back of my mind

It echos even when I am laughing

It pinched when I am busy

You may not hear it

I may never speak of it

But there is pain here.”

-If a sob is Unspoken does your heart still break?

[paintedgreypoetry]

“I am finally free from them.

And yet,

On days like

Christmas Eve,

Where I am alone;

No lights

Or Trees,

And it just another Tuesday -

But so much more quiet,

I can’t help but feel like,

Estranged

Is less of a escape

And more of just another

Jail cell.”

- true loneliness is found in empty Christmas’s.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“ Some times I wish I would just sink

In to the void and dissolve

Disappear like I was nothing.

My therapist called it being passive suicidal.

I call it weak

I can’t even just put right words to say what I want.

I’ve been weak my whole life.

I should have stood up when my father beat me.

I should have yelled and demanded basic needs when my mother neglected me.

I should have push the man off when He touched me.

Coward girl with a lions main.

People who know my story call me brave

But they don’t see the truth

Took me 20 years to leave,

Took me even longer to realize they abused me.

I used to dream that my rapist would love me and when he didn’t I fantasized about getting abused again.

Passive

Passive

Coward girl in biker boots.

If I walk like I have no fear maybe they won’t see

The panic that pumps these veins.

Ptsd that keeps my spine straight and my eyes open when I should be sleeping.

Weak girl

Couldn’t stand up until she ran away,

Weak girl hoping that her father will either never see her or just kill her.

Weak girl can’t answer her mothers text with out her heart rate doubling.

Weak girl who pretends she wasn’t assaulted by telling her self she wanted it after the fact.

Coward girl who used to wish her teachers would see her pain

And never just showing them.

Passive.

Passive.

Can’t even think about killing her self right.

Can’t even call her nightmares nightmares

Just says ‘my stress dreams’ in therapy.

Coward girl can’t speak up still when her therapist asks her questions.

Passive.

Passive.

Girl who just wants to dissolve

Like snow in the sun, she just wants to pretend like she doesn’t exist when spring comes along.”

-I wish to be furniture.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“I may be tired

But I have to stay alert

Real nightmares walk the daylight.

It’s not what happens behind closed eyelids

That scare me

But what happens around them when they shut.

I can’t sleep if my door is open

I don’t trust what could walk in.

If there are monsters under the bed

I have long made friends with them

When I asked them to make room for me.

Sometimes the places where others may fear is the

Safest spot to hid away from cause maybe no one will look.

I’m an adult now and even still when I panic

I like to wedge my self in solitude.

Sleep, it’s never come easy for me,

Years later and I’m still half wake trying to hear my fathers boots coming down the hallway,

And no matter how far I take myself

Or how many locks I put on the door

You can’t run away from a memory.

Trauma likes to latch on,

The fridge jumping in the middle of the night

Sounds a lawful lot like his steps on tile

And when the coyotes howl I jump as his grit rattes my brain.

I’m twenty years behind on sleep,

I doubt at this point I’ll ever catch up.”

- it’s Halloween everyday, demons dress like my parents and no matter how my treats I dish out they only want to play tricks.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“The ugly truth about me

Is that I look for reasons to feel like this.

Like pressing a bruise just to feel it hurt.

My life is a wound that never healed,

And I like to push at it to remind myself

That life is pain.

No It’s not hard to fall down the pit.

Doesn’t take much to feel the familiar burn.

Most times it feel like I do it on purpose

And other times it’s ancient

Either way I’ll claim it’s not on purpose.

Who wants to feel like this?

Who is so messed up that

Feeling this is like coming home

And being ok, being happy

Is visiting a strangers home.

I know this darkness,

I was made of the shadows

And raised by the cold numbing

I am a prodigal child returning,

I like the welcome back hugs from my disorders

It’s nice to be wanted.

So yeah I poke the bruise

And pick my scabs

I like to know I still bleed.

I get more done when I don’t sleep.

Maybe I’ll change

Maybe my twenty some odd wound will magically heal itself

But until then

I’ll keep prodding the bruises

And pinching the scabs.”

- home is where your heart is; mine was never freed from its prison the past jailed it in.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“I’ve got more in my body

Then just the trauma

But

My bones are in encased

In the past

Like it’s steel coated

And it makes it so hard to walk with it weighing me down.”

-Yeah I suppose I could just get over it,

Cause it’s so easy to

Shed ones skeleton.

[paintedgreypoetry]

“It’s so easy to find things to cry over.

I got a past full of trauma that still needs weeping over;

Tears make the rain to water my mental illness garden:

The sexual assault its just about ready to pick,

And the childhood abuse is fully bloomed.

See my garden, with all my flowering disorders?

The perfected row of ocd

And the thorny brambles of ptsd.

My personality disorder comes in all different shades.

The anxiety, made vines that tie it all together.

The home association don’t find my garden so appealing,

So I built a fence around it,

Made it pretty,

I painted it recently, can’t let them see my chipping paint,

I picked a shaded called:

Fake smiles.

As long as it looks good

They don’t make a fuss.

It’s so easy to over water my garden,

Most days I’m trying not to drown them.

Sometimes it’s hard during flood season;

But I have found it thrives in the harsh weather.

I feel like a slave to it most days.

It needs to be weeded;

Ya know those pesky intrusive thoughts don’t care for themselves.

And if it’s too sunny for too long

They need some over compensation,

Need my attention tenfold.

Want me to tell them how much I need them,

How without their harvest

I’d be alone,

I’d be starving.

How they ward off pests

And predators.

I owe it to them.

I have a hard time most days.

My garden,

It takes up so much room in my back yard.

And the flowers I cut from it

Take up so much space in my house.

I have a hard time not obsessing over it.

Crying over it.

Looking at it.

It’s so easy to be upset,

I don’t have to wander far in the yard

Before I’m tripping over more plants.

Another repressed memory,

They are the invasive plant in the garden but

I think it looks good in the mix so I just keep them where they bloom.

It’s hard for me most days.

I wish I could just pull them all up

Let it all go

But

If I’m honest

I’m more scared of emptiness,

Cause at least I know what to expect from my garden.”

- it’s easy to find things to hurt over, and some days impossible to find joy, but I keep looking regardless.

[paintedgreypoetry]

I hope I never see you again.

I never want to be back.

Never wanna face you again,

I just clawed my way outta the trauma pit.

And I admit took me longer to adjust to the truth ,

Took me alittle too long to see the monster you are.

Always took for you some stern handed King

But I’ve blinked through the blinding light;

Gosh that prison was so damn dark

But I see now;

Fake the king with a fools crown

just a jester

Pedaling his act

Seeing what kinda sympathy you can muster up.

But your love is so expensive

And I’m done paying for

Counterfeit emotions.

Honestly I never want to see your face again.

The light of freedom it shines

And yeah it feels nice to stretch my arms

But the brighter the light

The bigger the shadow.

My shadows

They aren’t shadows at all,

Trauma build companions

Clinging to my spine

Whispering all the horrible things in to my ear.

They like to hang on me and weigh me down most days

But it’s ok.

I’m building muscle

Every day they cling on

The stronger I get.

My calloused heart is my armor;

You gave me thick skin.

Now I’m just trying to coupe with the mess you’ve made

But it’s nothing new ya’ know?

Really, I was bred to clean up for you.

I got my the rags at the ready; the psyche makes a good mop.

Spilled your ego on the kitchen floor,

Here take my pride, it will soak it up real good.

Broke your fragile anger,

My childhood is a good broom.

Isn’t that the only reason you didn’t just abandon me?

Let’s be candid,

It’s cheaper to hold me hostage and feed us moldy bread

Then to pay child support every month.

Sorry was that too blunt?

Sometimes when I get this way it’s hard for me to turn my blind eye.

Hard for me to just smile and shrug.

Hard to say: ‘It’s just how he is;

It was my fault, didn’t sweep the house in the right way.

That’s why my ears are ringing

My fault

Should have been silent

My fault that why my lip is broken.’

Fathers will be father’s right?

Isnt that how it goes?

Said twice in this poem now

Imma say it again

I hope I never see you.

But you know what

Even if some how I fell back down

And I was back in your fists

There isn’t a piece of skin that hasn’t already been busied by you; so really what would I have left to loose.

Furthermore

Survival...

Oh it’s nasty business;

Tooth and nail

Isn’t that what they say?

Daddy dearest I got claws

And fangs.

So even if your fists haven’t been stated

I am no longer the punching bag you created.

Not longer furniture

But a trauma made fighter and I’ll never go down easy again.

Fourth time is a charm

I’ll say it to the universe,

So hopefully

When the wild wind bristles you’ll

Hear my growls:

I never want to see your face again.

I don’t trust myself around you,

Not call out your self righteous bullshit.

I know you can’t help but play your role,

The tired useless act

That you just keep on selling tickets for.

You mean nothing to me.

I know all your lies by heart.

One last time just to be sure

I never wanna see you again.

Tell me can you hear me

Form so far away?

Should I say it louder for the enabler‘s in the back?

I never want to see you again,

Never wanna hear how your doing,

Never wanna talk about you,

Or hell be in the same vicinity as you.

I’m healing and it’s not easy,

It’s not rainbows

It’s not sunshine.

Rebuilding with nothing but broken

Is a hard feat but I’m doing it.

So say it with me

Just so I know you heard me clearly-

I never wanna see you again.

[paintedgreypoetry]

I feel like I've seen your profile pic in a dream or something, great drawing. Also your poetry is amazing and I'm sure you'd put enough time and effort into a book that it would be incredible!

Thank you! Seriously from the bottom of my heart! If I was more brave I would publish; maybe one day I’ll find courage! Also thank you for the drawing complaint; I did it myself! (Also sorry I’m just now seeing your ask) you have made my day!

[paintedgreypoetry]

We haven’t spoken in 425 days.

Even when I was around I don’t think we ever actually said anything;

Just words in to the void of meaningless.

I never knew silence would feel so good.

I don’t miss you.

Not even a little bit, not even an ounce.

In fact every new day with you gone,

My smile grows wider.

Each mile that grows between us I stand straighter.

I don’t fear corners any more.

In fact even if I did see you I might not even recognize you;

And if I did I would make damn sure that to act like I didn’t.

Nothing

You are nothing to me.

You and I both know it.

It was my birthday

When you decided to try and earn your metal.

You know I deleted your number?

Yet I still knew it was you

And I just fucking deleted that txt

Without even opening it.

You don’t get to act like nothing happened.

When we both know something did.

I don’t need you.

Honestly; I never did.

Even when I was a child begging for scraps of attention;

You were never a father

And I was never a daughter.

I don’t remember when everything changed.

Maybe nothing did .

But I do know

One day I woke up and I realized

I was no longer a daughter to anyone

But the trauma.

My mother abandonment

And my father abuse.

My family tree was nothing but brush fire

In the flames of estrangement.

I don’t remember when I realize

I was just puppets for them to play with

But I remember tugging on the strings.

It’s been 425 days

Since we spoke,

There was no fall out,

I just stopped trying

And you didn’t even notice.

Let me tell you

I never knew what freedom was

Until after I realize my life was a prison.

- my silence spoke more to you then my scream ever did. Now that I know this; I’ll never open my mouth to you again because it be nothing but a waste of air.