Writing With Fire

Aspiring poet and writer

[writing-with-fire]

A Toast

Here's to the people who despise themselves because the word 'hate' isn't strong enough. Here's to the people with fresh wounds from an old memory. To the people with bruises on their arms from someone they love, to those without a voice to speak louder then the ones who try to bring them down. To the ones who have felt worthless and imperfect. To those who hide who they truly are due to unreachable goals set by others, to those who value intelligence and honesty over beauty. The ones with untouched food on their plates, or none at all. The ones with big hearts and bright smiles. The ones with syndromes and diseases who are shoved in one room. To the ones with disabilities. Who have gay parents or are gay themselves, to those with different cultures and religions, to the transgendered and the ones who aren't even sure what to call themselves. To the ones with scars they put there themselves, the ones who are tempted to swallow the bottle of pills or step off the edge of the building. The ones who hurt more than love, or can't love at all. Here's to you, for living today.

[writing-with-fire]

The Truth

People don't always come back to you if you want them to. That's something I learnt from being with and without you on countless different occasions. But somehow the pain still manages to sneak up on me when the lights are off and when I walk past the places we shared memories and smiles, and sometimes I still feel your lips on mine when I pray for the pain to stop. It seems that mourning continues months after I last touched you and felt whole. I wish things turned out differently. Maybe then I wouldn't be writing a poem about a love story that fell apart before our eyes. We crumble when we least expect it. And I guess this is where the story ends. Because now I'm the one hoping by some miracle that you'll call or text me or something so I can know that this heart break isn't one sided. I promised myself I wouldn't feel this way. I thought I was capable of holding it together. But the truth is that I can only hold on for so long before I can fall apart. Another truthful statement is that I miss you. More than I should for the crap you put me through. And when people ask about you I lie and say how terrible you were. But all I keep thinking is how those two years that I knew you for, were the best two years of my life.

[writing-with-fire]

Loving An Alcoholic

Don't trust people with your heart because I can promise you that at one point in time you will feel their hands grasping to your life. Feeding themselves off of your love that they never bother to return. Don't forget that love comes with a price. You'll feel lonely at times and they'll make sure to tell you that you're being selfish. Remember to hide the beer bottles they drank to save their pride. Don't forget to wash the stench of their hands off of your skin or the vomit off of the edge of the sink. Your elbows will hurt and your knees will shake. Your fingers will bleed and muscles will ache. Their body will stay at the dining room table for five straight hours, soaking up comfort in the form of alcohol. But you'll still stay. Because somewhere in them is a human. Not just a drunken body. Somewhere inside of them is the person you fell in love with. And sometimes you still see a glimpse of them when they look at you.

[writing-with-fire]

Happiness is supposed to be broad. Something on a spectrum that has no hidden meanings. The word happiness is as pure and gentle as it truly is. Although somewhere along the way, my faith in happiness weakened. With every knife that seemed to pierce my heart with the strength that it had, I grew weak. And just like the sorrow of infinity that an immortal must feel, I understood the agony of longing. For I was longing for happiness. Wishing and dreaming was no longer enough and I soon found myself in a small room sitting in a plastic chair, facing a stranger with the intensity of confusion in his eyes. Leaving me with the taste of barriers in the air. And I knew he was not going to fill my void, just fill my empty time. I knew he would not be an aid. I am alone. The bitterness has taken over just when the sun was starting to look like a promise rather than a bad omen. And just how it once was; happiness is not pure. To be truly content, one must first embrace the phases of life. To feel the pain of others, to feel warmth on skin. To smile when they are so close to crying. They must feel things that I will never know.

[writing-with-fire]

From The Inside Out

Depression is not a faze. It's sadness growing deeper and deeper into the hollows of your body, digging up the good and burning it, leaving only darkness behind. It's clawing for something to help you out of a dark tunnel, searching for something that can potentially save you from yourself. It's numbness after awhile. Everything feels the same. The sun may be shining and the tide will reach the shore again but you're not sure if you'll make it to see that again. Or rather, you don't want to see it again. A constant reminder of what you've looked at through your bedroom window for so long that it feels like numbness as well. The heat of the sun warms your skin, but not your body. You can hear the waves, but they seem more distant than usual. Maybe that's how it works. Maybe you slowly start dying from the inside out. From your mind, to the light in your eyes, to the smile lines and then finally your heart. Breaking is easier when you only do it once, because if you do it well the first time; you won't have to do it again.

[writing-with-fire]

Heart Of Gold

My mother told me that I have a heart of gold. Something people look for when living gets too tough. I was told that I have a pure and pretty soul, something that would change my future. But I didn't understand. Because how pure of a soul could I have when I was the cause of so much heart break and anger. People get mad so easily now a days that its difficult to believe that there is anyone with a heart of gold like my mother had said. Some people won't even look up and smile at you when walking passed them and god forbid someone call instead of text you. Too shy to talk to me so inbox me instead with hateful words my "friends" had said about my looks. All I ask is for some decency when it comes to human beings and I pray to something that your wounds can heal so you can experience what kindness does feel like. Because only then will a world open up where we can feel at peace and safe and content with so much promise for good days that our dreams burst in to reality for us. My mother said I have a heart of gold. I kept thinking to myself. "Shouldn't everyone?"

[writing-with-fire]

People only look at the surface of things. They see the bruises on your thighs but not the reason they are there. They see the strange scar just along your rib cage but don't ask why. Maybe they think its none of their business, or maybe they pretend not to notice at all. But when it comes to something like the burn marks on your hands and why there is thin, white scars lining your wrists, they think they know you. They imagine a pretty girl crying in her room in the dark, a blade from a pencil sharpener resting in her palm. Maybe there is blood on it, maybe she sees her reflection in its dull surface. Or maybe it wasn't a blade at all that tore her skin. "It was just the cat." "I'm clumsy." "Don't worry about it." She pulls her sleeves down lower. Pretends they aren't there and that you didn't see. She won't look you in the eyes. You don't know her. Just because you see a battle ground on her body doesn't mean you know why it took place. Don't jump to conclusions, don't judge her for being "over dramatic" or "just wanting attention." You don't know her story. And she won't tell you.

[writing-with-fire]

Dear Body,

I vow to look at you with a smile in the morning. I vow to complement you often and realize that there's more of importance on the inside than the out. You're the house of my soul and you're the thing to carry me through my life. You're the body I choose to nourish with contentment and the body I choose to honour. But most of all I vow to love you unconditionally, because this body of mine is a treasure in itself.

[writing-with-fire]

Why I'm A Feminist

I'm a feminist because people still ask what she had on for clothing when raped. Because people still pay women lower salaries then men who have the same job. Because I don't feel like being a cat call on my way home or having to hold my keys through my fists like daggers in a dark parking garage. I'm a feminist because our bodies are sexualised through media and they explain it as a smart marketing technique. As if girls don't see the models and realise that they don't look like what guys seem to want. I'm a feminist because we are told in school that our shorts and skirts couldn't be higher than our fingertips because it distracts the boys. Instead of teaching the boys not to stare they teach us not to be so god damned desirable. That we have to be a certain type or we're not a real girl. Soft, shy, thin, pretty, poised, delicate, weak, happy, love searching. Needing a man is apparently all we are good for in this screwed up world and Delusional mind set of what is good. I'm a feminist because there's something wrong with this culture. Because I don't want to raise children in a world where your constant move decides wether you're more of a boy or girl. I am a feminist because I am tired of holding my finger over the call button when I dialed police because a man was walking past me on a deserted street. I'm a feminist because when I asked why he was allowed to be mean to me, they answered with, "He's just being who he is." As if that somehow made it okay for this boy to harass and sexually touch places on me with no consent from me. Do you know what I answered with? I said. "Being himself does not give him the excuse of being a dick." And that's when I chose to be a feminist. Because if I did what that boy did, I would be labeled as A slut and a whore. But no, he got praise.

[writing-with-fire]

Equality

I picked her up off of the floor and even when I didn't want her to see what she does to me, she already saw how I light up when she talks. I didn't know, until I saw her smile in the midst of things collapsing down around us all. My parents say "It's just a faze". Is your straight-ness a faze as well? What if it's fine to be gay in this world of His? I don't think he will love us less if we love the same sex, as if somewhere along the lines of life being straight is required. It's not. You're not going to let some steal your affection from those who deserve it. It's okay to be gay or bisexual, transgendered or a lesbian. We're all people. No matter who we choose to love. And this is why it's important to show that it's okay for it. It's okay for equality to happen on it's own terms. It's alright to love. No matter what.

[writing-with-fire]

Happiness

Find what makes you happy and do that often. Wether it be dancing all the time or sitting in your room pouring words from your veins into that little notebook you hide between your mattress. Wether it be feeling with your hands or feeling with your eyes instead, it doesn't matter. Because if it makes you happy than its what you're supposed to be doing. Forget the people who draw hatred into your life. Rip them from your heart like the pages of a book and forget them. Forget them with the sole purpose of wanting a better life for yourself. Realize that you are worth more than you think. You're not worth your waistline or the size of your thighs, no. But you're worth the size of your heart and the length of your smile and the beauty of the way your eyelashes move with the way you blink. You're worth the kind words that you let escape your lips and the way you dream in vivid colours. You're worth your soul, and not anything less. The world is your playground. You're able to do what you want with it and create your own path. You're allowed to restart and make mistakes and keep on going and never give up. It's your life to live and live like you know you're not going to last forever. Because one day were going to expire like old milk and our skin will become etched with history. Our faces will fall and our knees will become weak. But none of that matters either because your heart will shine like the sun and the light will radiate through your eyes. As long as you have happiness, nothing can touch you. You're safe.

[writing-with-fire]

Flaws

You're an abundance of cells that manifest themselves inside your being. You're created from crystals and rhinestones and stars that God pulled from the night sky. You're flawless and you are inescapable from yourself. I think that's okay. Remember that you're more than what you see in that reflection in your mirror. Mirrors can't tell you how precious your smile is and how beautiful your mind is. People say eyes are the windows to the soul, not your mirror. And when you lose faith in the ability to love your flaws, remember that they aren't called flaws if you don't call them that. Pretty. Dulcet. Beautiful. Perfect. Anything that kindles the fire in your heart is what makes you beautiful.

[writing-with-fire]

Going Crazy

I drank clear liquid out of a red cup and smoked a little more than I should have. I wore red lipstick and black eyeliner, with my hemline too short and shirt too small. I kissed too many boys and broke their hearts and did it all over again and now I'm wrecked and I suck at giving love. And he left because I was too easy, so I drake a whole bottle of vodka and fucked a guy behind the bar at one in the morning, hoping that he could save me from the pain in my chest and the smoke in my lungs. But he couldn't. He only made me spill over like I was the drink in the red cup at the start of this all. I drank too much and screwed myself over. So here I lay with my lips still swollen and my hair tangled behind me. "Grab another joint, bitch, and smoke it up." Hand in my pocket to get the lighter, but pull out crumpled and smoke stained money. This is the life of what you call a whore. She is not a skank or what you call a slut, she is the actress on the street corner. Went crazy and ended up in his car. Lost everything and needed some money. She does drugs to forget what life she lives. Call her a prostitute or a hooker. But I call her a woman trapped inside something that she never wanted to be. I pity the person who dare judge her. I pity the man who left her broken. And one day I hope she can see the light at the end of that dark, so dark tunnel. Because one day she is going to come back from this all with armour of steel. She'll open up her cracked spine like a book. Let us in, know the life she had battled for. But no, you will not care, because she was absent of abstinence and purity. Who would sell her soul piece by piece to men who later went home to their wives and kids. "Grab another needle, feel your warm veins" Fix your hair and re-apply the lipstick. The men ask if you would like a small drink. Look up, smile. "Vodka. In a red cup."

[writing-with-fire]

Love is

Love is when words speak louder than a kiss. When you can feel comfortable around them in your own skin and embrace their flaws like a mother does your own and attempts to make you view otherwise that you are beautiful. A perfectly imperfect balance of nature coiled into one world which made me happy and at peace. Love is not always kind and so perfect. Love can be pouring from a red blood bag and it can be giving a quarter to the cold and frail man on the sidewalk. Letting yourself go to drain the tears from your eyes and pouring the sweat from your skin. Peeling back the self hatred like a coat and shaking it off with a steady hand Is just as much of love as kissing is. Love is when you can smile at strangers. Offer another dose of warm laughter, saying "keep the change" to the young cashier. Ask her if she's doing okay and if she would like another glass of water. Pulling the beer bottle away when he's clearly too wasted to drink anymore. Helping someone put groceries in their car, waiting patiently in the check out line, spontaneous complements to strangers, "Be careful", "be safe," be open minded. Love is when you can put others before yourself. Care for the well being of her, and him and everyone with a heart beat. It's flattery and pink cheeks and wit. Powerful and endless. That's what love is.