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when i was a child:
i loved to steal.
i would go around my neighborhood
and steal lawn ornaments.
at daycare, i would steal money
and toys
and food.

once, i stole my next door neighbor’s
rabbit statute.
when my parents confronted me,
the lie was smooth and solid:

i saw so-and-so take it.

--

when i was a child:
i loved to lie.
i would make up stories
to get reactions out of people.
to see if they’d believe me.
for fun.

once, i convinced my friend charlotte
that i had twenty-four hours to live.
when she burst into tears,
i had to bite my tongue
to keep from laughing.

--

when i was a child:
i loved animals.
i would lock my dog in the closet
and in the bathroom.
a lot of my neighbors left birdcages out
during the day
so i set all of the birds free.

once, i imagined what it would be like
to kill an animal.
then, i imagined what it would be like
to run over it repeatedly
with a car
so i did it with my scooter
to a rose i found
because it was red

like blood.

--

when i was a child:
i was alone a lot.
i was an only child
living with two working parents
and had a lot of free time.

sometimes, i would look in the browser history
for the pornsites my dad looked at.
every night, i would touch myself
between my legs
and called it
“the tickle.”

i started
at four.

--

when i was a child:
i couldn’t stop talking.
my grandparents used to joke
about paying me quarters
to shut me up.

once, a boy named austin asked me
why i talked so fast, so much, so often.
it was the first time he asked, but not the first time
i was asked
so i stole his backpack
and later, watched him cry.

--

when i was a child:
i thought a lot.
i had a lot of words
and a lot of stories in notebooks
and on old laptops.

once, i got a song stuck in my head
for months at a time.
once, a mosquito got in my room
and buzzed in my ear
and i heard it clearly
for three days.

the next day, at the school library,
i had a panic attack
and the librarian
asked me to leave.

--

when i was a child:
after that,
i slept with the covers around my ears
for three years.

i screamed
every time i heard a bug buzzing.
i ran out of the room
if i heard that song.



i still do.

--

when i was a child:
i didn’t cry.
i wailed. i blubbered. i screamed
sometimes so hard
that i couldn’t breathe.

once, my father
said i was too sensitive.
i sobbed
until i choked.

--

when i was a child:
i was different.
i felt things differently
and more deeply
than the other kids.

once, my parents
tell me this.

sometimes,
it’s too hard to say the word
“crazy.”

--

now:
i cannot remember a time in my life
when i wasn’t this.
i can’t remember my personality
before bipolar disorder because,
sometimes, i think,
i was always this way.

now:
my childhood escalated
into a wild adolescence.
into a troubled adulthood.

now:
my medication was working
and it took me wrecking my car
and throwing away five hundred dollars
and losing my virginity
to a twenty-eight year old man
to realize
it wasn’t anymore.

now:
the secret is,
it never leaves you.
even when it’s not there,
it is.

now:
some bipolar people, to cope,
name their illness
or treat it like a person
in their head.
i treat mine
like a monster who broke in.
i call mine
“the thing that ruined my entire life.”

now:
i can’t hold down a job
without having a breakdown
and sometimes i see a man
pushing thirty
wearing a seattle sweatshirt
and sometimes, i have to remember that
i thought it was romantic
that he fucked an eighteen year old girl
because he wanted to get her pregnant,
that he wanted to get her high
because she was scared to give up her virginity,
that he called her his property,
that he had a tantrum every time
another guy so much as looked at her.

and every day, every minute,
i have to remember that the eighteen year old girl
was me

and that i bought him that stupid fucking sweatshirt
two days
before i left him.

now:
what i’m trying to say is
have you ever done something so embarrassing
so shameful
so disgusting
that you look at your reflection
as if it’s a stranger?


because i do.

now:
my favorite quote ever reads,
“be the person you needed when you were younger.”



now:
i failed.
quirks.
In a fit of rage a few months ago, I punched this poem out in about ten minutes. So it might be a bit of a train wreck--even more than my other free verse poems. 

He texted me in October saying that he hopes we can still be friends one day and that he hopes I become a famous writer.
I told him I hoped he got hit by a car. He did not reply. 

He does not get to steal my words. He does not get to silence me. I'm going to be angry for a while, and so are my words. Sorry if it's all fire and brimstone for a while, but I need to vent. I need to recover my voice. 
Loading...
  • Mood: Regretful
Recently, I've returned from an unexpected, extended hiatus to find that my poem "bipolar" was named a Daily Deviation in October - my fourth DD - and that my watcher count is over 1,000.

To say I'm honored is an understatement.

However, it should be known that, for now, at least, there is only one poem I have the bravery to share. The rest are too personal, too, too dark.

Something horrible happened over the summer.

I got a job - a burger joint where the staff was divided by front of the house and back of the house. I was front of the house (I'm not much of a cook.) Back of the house is about what you expect from a greasy spoon: a vulgar, happy-go-lucky group of loose cannons bad at following instructions. I liked them immediately.

They liked me, too. But only one of them really liked me.

To say I know why I responded is a bit of a lie. There wasn't a thing about him I liked. Not one. He was good-looking, but his redeeming qualities end there. He was a slacker, uninteresting, and immature. 

Fast forward to late June. We start dating. Fast forward to early July. He can't figure out why I don't want to have sex with him. I confess I'm a virgin.

Fast forward again. The following Friday. After badgering me to invite him over when the house is empty, I cave. He comes over with a pipe of marijuana and a condom. I'm nervous; he offers me the weed. Just so he'll stop, I give him my virginity.

Our "relationship" lasts two months. It consists of his constant sexual demands, jealousy, and possessiveness, and my aloofness, forced ignorance, and psychosis. His arm tightens around me in public whenever another man walks by, he ignores me and whines at me whenever his friends notice my ass through my work pants, he casually tells me to stop hanging out with my male friends the way someone says "nice weather today." I finally wake the fuck up mid-August, after I spend a night out with a close male friend of mine. A friend who, according to him the next day, "would only want to hang out with a beautiful woman like you if he had an ulterior motive."

I dump him less than twenty-four hours later.

The next day, he shows up at my house at seven in the morning. He taps on my window. I'm freaking out, and he sees nothing wrong with it. He thinks it's romantic. I text him that if he ever shows up at my house again, I'm calling the police.

He continues texting, continues trying to strike up conversation. At work, he propositions me for a friends with benefits relationship. I say no. He pretends he doesn't hear and asks me to reconfirm my answer two, three, seven times. The texts continue. 

I tell him nothing. I barely sleep. I have nightmares featuring his face of the man raping me, beating me, hurting me. He scares me. I have no doubt in my mind that he would kill me if he had the chance. 

And, as if it couldn't worse:

He's twenty eight years old.

I'm eighteen. I graduated high school this year. To put it into perspective, he heard that I was a whole decade younger than him, and it didn't matter. It didn't even factor in what he intended to get from me: sex. He was a predator, try and true. He talked about marriage a month into the relationship, kids a week later. I had a pregnancy scare because he insisted on not using a condom, panicking over the lack of blood in my panties while he was perfectly at ease - perfectly fine with impregnating an eighteen year old girl. I faked orgasms for him, lay there while he pounded into me, while he hurt me, and I pretended to like it.

He ruined me, and I let him. I knew what he was. I knew how he was, and I didn't care. I let him get away with it. He destroyed my trust in people. The idea of another person touching me revolts me. The idea of being physically intimate with anyone disgusts me. I let myself be intimate with him. I let him see my body, I sent him pictures of it, I let him brag to his friends about how he was fucking a teenage girl. I broke down, in tears, and confessed his real age to my mother. I have nightmares about murdering him, about him showing up at my house and pretending I still love him while he throws me down and rapes me. I have nightmares about screaming at him to leave me alone while he smiles and continues walking toward me. I think about him constantly. I had to quit my last job because being in the same building as him was too much; seeing him caused me to have panic attacks.

He ruined my entire life.

I will try my hardest to respond to all of your wonderful messages. But please try to understand that I may not write for a long time. If ever.

I've had everything taken from me.
  • Mood: Regretful
Recently, I've returned from an unexpected, extended hiatus to find that my poem "bipolar" was named a Daily Deviation in October - my fourth DD - and that my watcher count is over 1,000.

To say I'm honored is an understatement.

However, it should be known that, for now, at least, there is only one poem I have the bravery to share. The rest are too personal, too, too dark.

Something horrible happened over the summer.

I got a job - a burger joint where the staff was divided by front of the house and back of the house. I was front of the house (I'm not much of a cook.) Back of the house is about what you expect from a greasy spoon: a vulgar, happy-go-lucky group of loose cannons bad at following instructions. I liked them immediately.

They liked me, too. But only one of them really liked me.

To say I know why I responded is a bit of a lie. There wasn't a thing about him I liked. Not one. He was good-looking, but his redeeming qualities end there. He was a slacker, uninteresting, and immature. 

Fast forward to late June. We start dating. Fast forward to early July. He can't figure out why I don't want to have sex with him. I confess I'm a virgin.

Fast forward again. The following Friday. After badgering me to invite him over when the house is empty, I cave. He comes over with a pipe of marijuana and a condom. I'm nervous; he offers me the weed. Just so he'll stop, I give him my virginity.

Our "relationship" lasts two months. It consists of his constant sexual demands, jealousy, and possessiveness, and my aloofness, forced ignorance, and psychosis. His arm tightens around me in public whenever another man walks by, he ignores me and whines at me whenever his friends notice my ass through my work pants, he casually tells me to stop hanging out with my male friends the way someone says "nice weather today." I finally wake the fuck up mid-August, after I spend a night out with a close male friend of mine. A friend who, according to him the next day, "would only want to hang out with a beautiful woman like you if he had an ulterior motive."

I dump him less than twenty-four hours later.

The next day, he shows up at my house at seven in the morning. He taps on my window. I'm freaking out, and he sees nothing wrong with it. He thinks it's romantic. I text him that if he ever shows up at my house again, I'm calling the police.

He continues texting, continues trying to strike up conversation. At work, he propositions me for a friends with benefits relationship. I say no. He pretends he doesn't hear and asks me to reconfirm my answer two, three, seven times. The texts continue. 

I tell him nothing. I barely sleep. I have nightmares featuring his face of the man raping me, beating me, hurting me. He scares me. I have no doubt in my mind that he would kill me if he had the chance. 

And, as if it couldn't worse:

He's twenty eight years old.

I'm eighteen. I graduated high school this year. To put it into perspective, he heard that I was a whole decade younger than him, and it didn't matter. It didn't even factor in what he intended to get from me: sex. He was a predator, try and true. He talked about marriage a month into the relationship, kids a week later. I had a pregnancy scare because he insisted on not using a condom, panicking over the lack of blood in my panties while he was perfectly at ease - perfectly fine with impregnating an eighteen year old girl. I faked orgasms for him, lay there while he pounded into me, while he hurt me, and I pretended to like it.

He ruined me, and I let him. I knew what he was. I knew how he was, and I didn't care. I let him get away with it. He destroyed my trust in people. The idea of another person touching me revolts me. The idea of being physically intimate with anyone disgusts me. I let myself be intimate with him. I let him see my body, I sent him pictures of it, I let him brag to his friends about how he was fucking a teenage girl. I broke down, in tears, and confessed his real age to my mother. I have nightmares about murdering him, about him showing up at my house and pretending I still love him while he throws me down and rapes me. I have nightmares about screaming at him to leave me alone while he smiles and continues walking toward me. I think about him constantly. I had to quit my last job because being in the same building as him was too much; seeing him caused me to have panic attacks.

He ruined my entire life.

I will try my hardest to respond to all of your wonderful messages. But please try to understand that I may not write for a long time. If ever.

I've had everything taken from me.

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colbalt-rain's Profile Picture
colbalt-rain
Katie
Artist | Literature
Italy
Katie, 18, feel a lot older; I am an author person. My hobbies include not finishing books I start and being a danger to society.

I like diet soda, Germany, and being happy. Sometimes I dream about running away; other nights, I have the "I'm giving a TV interview from inside a revolving door" dream.
Interests

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:iconcaradecunha2:
caradecunha2 Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Wow! Just read your poem on the feature on Pable Neruda and things of such. "breaking a writer's heart". I really loved it! Keep up the awesome work of  art! :D
Reply
:iconlordvorsolon:
LordVorsolon Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2014  Student Writer
You, my dear lass, are in my top 5 writers list. Very very very VERY! well done on ALLLL of your works. You, my friend, are truly gifted.
Reply
:iconmadmenice:
madmenice Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2014
You ma'am, are an amazing writer.

I applaud writers like you you so hard, that... That my hands disappear. Oh, and I applauded you so hard that I watched you.
Reply
:iconrandom-drawer-person:
random-drawer-person Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Your gallery is so full of beautiful words, you're amazing!
Reply
:iconanaanonyumous:
AnaAnonyumous Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy belated birthday and happy early birthday.

And don't forget your merry unbirthday!

Have a good day.
Reply
:iconmurderousartiest:
murderousArtiest Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
I sent an angel to watch over you last night but it came back.
I asked, "why?"
The angel said, "angels don't watch over angels."
Twenty one angels are IN your world.
Ten of them are sleeping, Ten are playing, one is reading this message.
Send this to ten friends including me.
I guess if I don't get it back I'm not one of them. As soon as you get five replies someone you love will quietly surprise you.
Please read, not joking. God has seen you struggling with something. God says it's over. A blessing is coming your way. If you believe in God send this message on. Please don't ignore it. You are being tested. God is going to fix two things BIG tonight in your favor. DROP everything and pass it on. Tomorrow will be the best day of your life. Don't break this chain. Send this to 14 friends in 10 minutes. It's not that hard
Reply
:iconcapricecake:
capricecake Featured By Owner May 24, 2014  Student Writer
oh, my! you're fantastic!
+watched. C:
Reply
:iconcolbalt-rain:
colbalt-rain Featured By Owner May 25, 2014   Writer
Thank you! :la:
Reply
:iconpaintedwolff:
PaintedWolff Featured By Owner Apr 29, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
OMGOMGOMGOMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Reply
:iconcolbalt-rain:
colbalt-rain Featured By Owner May 3, 2014   Writer
Thank you!
Reply
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