home

hearts are like homes;

they can break

and shatter

and turn to ash,

to nothing.

they can be hollow,

empty.

or full

with regret

and sorrow

and pain

but,

they can also be 

whole

and beautiful;

full of love

and care

and peace

all of this

broken or whole

empty and bitter

or

whole and beautiful

all of this

the choice of its owner.

Just for you

     Your eyes open, your heart pulsating in your chest, your lungs collecting and dispelling air.

     You're alive--physically.
   
     Mentally, emotionally, you're a step away from death. Just barely clinging to existence. Your feelings consist of a devoid air most would consider empty, but not you. No, not you. You know empty all too well and this slim air contained in your soul is not empty, just barren of any consciousness, any emotion. It's back. That feeling of hopelessness, loneliness, nothingness. Depression. Far from sadness. Far from sanity. You climb into your cold, slender bed alone, too many thoughts pushing themselves against your head, creating the constant throbbing migraine that never seems to cease. You shrivel into yourself, your rustled movements reverberating through the silent room you call home. You try to find yourself in the darkness, failing you flip onto your other side, then onto your back. You can never decide what you want, even concerning the most simplest of tasks. It's devouring you whole. Every part of you is consumed by it's constant presence in your life, in your body, in your mind. You try to fight. Every day, every night, you fail. You just can't seem to help yourself and constantly give up, thinking this fight is impossible.

     You're wrong.

     Depression is a sickness inside you. Inside your mind. It convinces you to your very core you have no hope, you have no future, you have no home in this world and no one. It's a monster trying to drag you down into the pit you have dug yourself to curl up and die in. But you don't really want to die. You don't want to suffer like this. You want happiness. You crave it more than society craves success and acceptance. You think it's unreachable. That you cannot obtain the dreams you've dreamed of for so long. You think you'll never conquer your fears this sadness has created, that you will never amount to anything or anyone, that you don't matter.

     You're wrong. 

     You can defeat this disease of the mind, body, and soul. You can make your dreams reality, you can be happy. You can. All you have to do is discover hope. Discover faith. Embrace them both and never let go. All you need to do is find yourself. Accept yourself once you do and never allow the negative thoughts to creep into your mind and overpower the positive. I'm not saying this journey will be easy, I'm not saying you won't relapse, that you won't cry or try to give up. You will, I know you will. But I also know how much you want this. You desperately want happiness, and that's how I know you will not just give up, curling into a ball of disjointed disbelief and grief. That's how I know you will make it through this. You are strong. Your soul is strong, and your mind. You think you're weak but to survive this monstrosity is one of the hardest struggles in life you can face, especially on your own. But I believe in you. And I love you. So darling, have hope. Grasp happiness and live.

Chanceful Change

Chanceful Change

Crumbling hope,

Diminshing smiles,

You're lost inside yourself.

The darkness grows,

Demolishing the essence of life;

Of light.

You grapple for a sense of security,

Purpose.

You find none.

There is nothing.

Only you.

You weep,

Wailing for help.

You are given none.

Alone in the bleak dusk,

You whisper,

Praying,

Crying,

For something.

Anything.

A chance.

A change.

But only you can save yourself.

Only you.

Hope

Running, running, running. There's no escape. You can't breathe. You start to panic. What do I do, you think to yourself. There is no hope, there is nothing. You crave freedom, sunlight, fresh air. But you're stuck in this miniature corner bursting with stench and failure, sobbing silently as you cling to yourself for some comfort that never comes. You start to pray to a God you never believed in, hoping he will forgive you for your neglect and ignorance. You curse when nothing happens--exactly what you expected. You scream to the heavens you realized aren't in the sky but in the arms of the lover you lost long ago. You have nothing. You become a pathetic ball of self-pity and deprecation. You pull out your gun covered in grime and blood of the fight fought before. You straighten your clothes and brush your tears away. This is all that's left for me, you tell yourself. Death; the only escape you can find in this dark hole. You cock the gun, readying yourself for what crime you will soon commit. Your hands shake and you sweat. As you slowly hold up the gun to your head, pressing it so gently against your skull, a strange peace overwhelms you. This is my destiny. You gingerly lay your finger on the trigger, but it slips off due to the sweat perspiring from your jittery hands. Can I really do this? Be this selfish and uncaring? Yes, you whisper to yourself. Yes you can. You hold the weapon tighter, setting your finger back onto the trigger that will soon lead to your demise. You take a deep breath and... Boom. Light spreads throughout the room and you drop your gun to shield your eyes. Someone, something, drags you out of this cornered cage and out into the light. You sob in relief, glancing up to see just a shadow beside the sunlight and trees. The shadow moves, kneeling down next to your torn, tattered body then you feel it's hand on your forehead, then neck, and wrist. It leans down farther, and you see the face of your lover, come back to save you from the hell they shoved you into you. You cry harder and grapple onto them, you hold on then slowly pull away as they come closer, leaning in to kiss you. You let them, feeling their soft lips on yours; you have your heaven back once more.

CNF: My face (old)

Always changing eyes beginning at the blue of my great grandfather’s, then morphing into a stranger’s color. Thick eyelashes concealed by mascara surround them; brown eyebrows arched at the right point above. A small, childish nose stuck in the middle leads down to a straight, pink mouth full of stories,secrets, and silence.  Strangely attached to that mouth is a birth defect come to life, starting at the corner of my mouth and trailing down towards my neck. A slightly wrinkled forehead connects to a mane of different colors and shades. Covered by that mane are ears, gauged and pierced in defiance. My face is beautiful in its own way, or so I am told. My face, plagued by a birthmark, is otherwise “beautiful”. But in a way, that mark defines me. It’s a difference from normality, as is the rest of me. I am Callie Ollie Gail Atkins, and am proud to be so, and look so.

CNF: Alternative Prompt

“I am not free.”

Invisible chains grip tighter, tighter, tighter still as I strain against the bonds that keep me from complete, utter freedom. My captors, my unrealized saviors; fear, will, passion, doubts, potentials. Will I have the will to fight until I am set free? Will fear consume courage? Will my passion betray me allied with my conniving mind? Will my doubts crush my spirit, alienating me from the light I so desire?

********

As a child, I had no concept of freedom, all I knew was the wind that tousled my hair, the endless games, lost shoes, and picking black-berries in the shade. I had no idea I could miss something I never fully realized I possessed until it was stolen away.

“You’re going to go to college, get a good job, a good husband, have lots of money and wait to have children until you can afford them,” my mother would chant, day after day, month after month, year after year. I would nod in silent agreement, dooming myself and my future. There were two options: disappoint my mother, living the life she always dreamed of, or living my own life. The latter was inconceivable in my eyes.

I worked and I strived, I prided and I lied. Just to keep that rare smile upon her condemning face.

Plastered grins, faked laughs, and hidden sorrows plagued me.

“Keep up the good work, Callie, just keep it up, make her proud, make her love you, this is your only talent, otherwise you’re useless and a failure. Don’t fail her Callie, don’t fail her. DON’T be a failure,” I prattled to myself every day, striding through my empty life.

Then, that void was filled with a realization. Words of the wise mumbled into a video in my AVID class struck me.

“Have the courage to dream,” the unnamed man said as I blankly stared at the screen he was projected on. I mumbled those same words over and over, pondering their true meaning. Then it struck me like a rage filled bitch slap. DREAM. All my life I never dreamed of what was out of my so-called “reach”, it was so far I didn’t even imagine I could make it. But as determination settled in my stomach, I made the decision. I was going to do what I wanted, what I dreamed, not my mother. I was going to be an author.

CNF: Summer's Cigarrettes

 In the summer you would slide out a cancer-stick to light and inhale to dissipate your sorrows. You posed agasinst a brick wall like a planned out photograph, smoking while passer-bys strode past, uncaring. When anger, terror, or emptiness overwhelmed you, you'd yank out that box of tobacco-slivers to calm your jittery nerves and furious mind. But one pale, fragile, little girl cared. You didn't see her coming as she strmed up the street, eyes intent on the stranger smoking, pluming out waves of grey pollution. She stood, glaring, fists pressed against her hips.
"What?" you asked, looking her up and down, unimpressed.
"Stop," she demanded, staring at the cigarrette resting betwixt your fingers.
"Why?" you asked, slumping against the wall, puffing out more smoke. Rage boiled up inside her. Acting on that rage, she snatched the cigarrette from you, crushing it against her skin.
"What the fuck are you doing!" you roared, quickly groping her arm, examining the wound, "Hospital. Now. Let's go!" You towed her behind you until you arrived at San Juan Mercy. She was bandaged and released.
"Every time you go to smoke, think of that," she said, glancing up at you.
"I will.." you whispered, vowing to never smoke again, compliments of that miniature doll that soon became your best friend.