Tag: mental

dried up paint

Scraping dried up paint from under my fingernails
With a 2H
Writing shit with too many details
Its getting late

Lying down by my book
Kept company by my pencils
And my phone
But its only decoration right now

I love it when an addiction is just decor
I could be using it but I wouldn’t know what for
To pick you up
To start to scroll
But I don’t
To want to drink
A glass of wine
But I wont

To smoke a cigarette, to think about you...
But I do


I love it when I write
Because nothing really means anything
Apart from one word at a time
And everyone thinks it does
That theres a theme or a deeper meaning
That I thought about before I finished it
I didn’t
There isn’t
Its just me talking in my head
If my brain could talk
Its just the shit it woulda said
I find meaning in my writing 
But I don’t write with meaning
I write with a pencil
And dried up paint

trigger

I sometimes loose control of my body

My hands smack into my head repeatedly

My eyes water with no end

My heart rushes and bangs through my chest

This can be caused when I have strong feelings that my brain can’t process.

I wanted to sleep for hours and I couldn’t

I wanted to feel cared for and I didn’t

I wanted to be respected and I wasn’t

So my body shut down, everything went to the beat of my heart

My hands came up, and my knuckles got bruised, and my scalp got cut, and my head wanted to lose.

I woke up the next day and saw the torn up sheet from all my shaking

I woke up and felt my hands aching

I woke up and my heart hadn’t yet stopped

The worst part is, is that normally I trigger this, with dark thoughts or loss of hope

But this time it was people, who I loved or thought I did

And so my world has crashed, and behind the pretty paintings I now see all the ash

So this is the time for me, and new beginnings, and people who I admire and look up to, not people who held knifes behind each others back.

Im not being used or abused or taken for granted

I’ll do some yoga and reflect, and not give any more chances.

Woman

As a woman

Ive started to notice sexism in my social life. If I’m seen giving orders it’s “micromanaging” “okay mum” “controlling” where as if a man does these things he is listened to, its “teaching” or “helping”.

I allowed myself to be held by men in a way that made me feel uncomfortable but “was just friendly”, talked to and about hyper sexually as an object to be seen and touched.

As a woman I am starting to be scared at how much I can see is based on nothing but my gender, no matter how much I know about an area, there will always be a dumber, more stupid man being listened to by many more.

When I use my sexuality to my advantage, as a way to make money, and to gain confidence. It’s seen as easy, a waste.

You can’t ask a broken person

To believe your words with no actions

With contrary reactions

With promises unkept

You can’t ask me to believe that you love me

When what I want is just hug me

All I need is a friend

I can’t feel loved if you leave me

I can’t feel loved if you don’t care

I want to feel like you need me

But you only try to get me out your hair

Taylor Hopewell

machine me

My scars don’t define me

They are merely scratches on the surface of this body

This body that I hold

I am my body and my past, but it is not me

That’s how I gain my confidence

By knowing I am so much more than my physical

I’m actually not what’s visible at all

I am a mind, and a soul, that can’t be seen only felt

Can not be explained only experienced

I love the body that contains me

Even tho it has been harmed

I love the bones that keep me upright

Structures and alarmed,

with triggers and buttons that only I know best

But I am missing one button that allows me to rest

I know the procedure, but don’t have the code

My body is a machine, that I must decipher

If I want to be released from this world

I must try to figure out combinations and patterns and passwords

To fully experience myself, I must understand the key

To unlocking to door, to set me free

My body is mine, but it is not me

The world is a place that I can’t quite see

Can’t see past the glass windows mistaken for eyes

or feel past the sensors thought to be skin

or the control centre…my mind

Taylor

My purpose

And I will drown myself in water

Because they have taken away the pills

And the alcohol

I will pour everything I can down the sink

Because my blood no longer flows from my skin

They took away the blades

But they didn’t take away the pain within

I will deafen myself with music because they no longer let me scream

Because screaming is a cry for help and I don’t want it

I don’t want to get better because this is what I know

I don’t want to change because I’ve never been a better writer than right now

But even now im still shit

And I don’t know how else to deal with pain

Of the lack of it

I know I should feel upset but all I feel is inspiration

I know I should be angry, but all I see is words

And all I hear is words

That might not rhyme

But my god do they sound good to me

So I’m sorry for what I’ve caused or what feelings this ignites within you

But maybe that’s my purpose

And I’m really looking for things to keep me alive

So if that’s the one

Then I’ll take what I can get