Noir_The_Underdog

God, I would never forget the day I almost died. Surprisingly there’s multiple times where I could have lost my life in this bitter-sweet city of mine. This one kid, one of the toughest ones, pulled a nine on me and a couple of other kids in the neighborhood. Man. if only you understood the rate my heart was going.

But no, not this time, I’m talking about another time. Another time where it was raining and I, around 12, was staying at my aunt’s home and I decided to run across a slippery road for a ham-sandwich from the corner store. A sandwich! I risked my young life for 2 slices of cold cuts and a golden, flaky, loaf of bread.

The moment that happened next, was something out of a movie. A car headed for me, my young ignorant eyes were too focus on the goal of acquiring food to even notice it. Before I crossed paths and took my last stroke of breath my ass hit the pavement. Hard. Turns out, I slipped seconds away from my doom. I fought through the pain and obtained enough strength to sit on the corner. Crying and crying until a man grabbed me by my, now, filthy black collar and helped me back to my aunt’s home. It wasn’t until later til’ on that my life, filled with video games and Saturday morning cartoon shows was intruded by “big adult thinking.” “What would have happened if I didn’t fall?” “What would have happened if it wasn’t even raining at all?” What if that day was a beautiful, sunny 82 degrees day and I decided to run across the street for a treat and a driver of a 1984 black Jeep just wasn’t fast quick enough to break. What would have happened If I wasn’t saved? How would my mom had felt that it wasn’t me who would bury her, but that she would have to dig a tiny, little dark grave?

   I was sitting there, eyeing the phone number at the screen. It was the number to the suicide hotline. I never gotten this far. I never gotten to the point where I'm actually staring at a number that I never thought I would stare at, A number I thought I would never encounter because I'm strong. That what she told me, that's what everyone tells me, That I'm strong and that I have hope and that's what makes me beautiful. I never thought it would come to a point where I'm having blurred visions of me swallowing pills and laying on the cold tile floor of my bathroom as I contemplate my departure; waiting for some sappy song to pop in my had as I slowly disappear into non-existant.

   This is fucking emo, real fucking emo and this ain't some shit I usually think about, but I'm fucking thinking about it and I can't fucking stop. It's like elementary school but fucking worst. I'm thinking about ending my life or dying everyday of my fucking life...and it's inching closer and closer...

   I'm not gonna do it, I can't. I don't have the fucking balls to pull the trigger. But I have the balls to fucking shout...like I have been fucking shouting...I'm fucking scared of living. I hate it. I hate fucking living because my body wants what it can't have: Love,Security, and happiness. I worked so hard, SOO FUCKING HARD, to fight for what it needs, but I can't get it. It's fucking impossible because I ruined my mind with what love is...but love isn't what I think it is. Love is having someone love you for you being w.e the fuck you are. Love is someone cradling you when you tell that person you're fucking scared of the future. Love is getting in an argument with the one you love and knowing it'll blow over; not fearing that this probably could end what you worked so hard on. But I have beaten the theory that love is someone who accepts you while you have your mask off. If you can't take your mask off without that person judging you.

...Then you're not in love...

   I want to die, but I want to live...I want to get something right and not have it break-down a few days later. I want someone to help me make sure it, w.e I'm "building", stays up and not watch it collapse on me.

I want a redo. 

I want to restart all the way to the beginning. Before I lost my virginity. Before my "Emo" stage. Before my first kiss. Before I understood my father never being around. Before I started to "understand" life.

I’m a headcase with a bold face walking around in place Disgraced that I have to live on as my own enemy.

You a friend of me? Shit, where were you when I was thinking about putting a bullet in me. You're full of deceit full of disbelief. Another memory to forever haunt the other memories.

You hearing me? This isn’t a shout out to be heard. Because I’m a free bird with a broken wing that could only pull 90 degree turns.

I’ve been burned I’ve been scorched I’ve been living in hell known as my front porch. 

I light a torch for the darkness Regardless of any light that happens to come my way.

I disobey gods because   I believe I have a better odds at doing whatever the fuck I say.

But of course that isn’t the case.  I’m still a waste. I’m full of hate And I still arrive a little bit too late.

I’m away wasting the taste of days full of opportunity cuz’ I lack the continuity of a thing called faith.

Now I’m sitting at this damn phone, hoping these tips will do a little more than save face.

Because I need grace and I need a mirror. I need love; perhaps they’ll all make it clearer.

I hope you know At this moment. As I crawl into these sheets

Looking for the deep Sleep I need to slip away Into my recovery.

You are once again Roaming my mind. Looking for ways to keep me awake.

Flipping switches That arent meant To be flipped.

Activating images That are as sweet As a kiss.

You use your smile to combat The exhaustion Producing my sleep deprivity.

And use your lack of words To cause my concern And fuel my imagination productivity.

At the wrongest of times When I need my sleep the most Is the time you decide to rise.

But believe me I do not fight .

I rather lay here Thinking of you My dear.

Then slip into a dream That I’ll forget when That fiery star comes again.

I rather think of a plan On how to to make you blush once then think of how to fix myself.

Youre my concern my dear. So dont think you’re causing A disturbance here.

Because I rather be wrapped Up in all your everythings And all your lists.

"Things I’ve said wrong" “Things that could of went right” And  “The things I couldnt resist”

Theres a mass of thoughts That keeps me awake. But it is you Who keeps me up tonight.

I can't erase this image, I cant erase the possibilites I cant erase this want... I am yours tonight.

You don't know it. Perhaps you never will Know the ill spell you Weaved on this night of mine.

I wondered if you stared at the Clock when  it struck past midnight.

I wondered if you thought of me And gave a sigh. Filled with nostalgic poisoning.

I wondered if you've Accomplished your mission And left me in the park.

Where our sweetest moments. Will Stay Forever captured in an old tree.

I wonder if you still think about me. Because I still think about you. And what we use to be.

I wondered if you will. Ever forgive me. For being the broken quill that I am.

I wonder...

If you sighed past twelve or was your last breath wasted on fixing this broken quill.

I felt like writing a story written with a poem tonight, just for the sheer reason of being that I felt like it.

I felt like pondering over the thought that the idea of you smiling, makes me smile a little too. Never inside because this smile is difficult to hide; It’s not like I want to.

I felt like explaining the lava boiling in my stomach. the degrees of heat rising to my ears. Just because of the utter image of you being near.

I felt like explaining the billions and billions of letters, dancing in my head. Dancing to the same tune of "tell her, tell her, tell her" 

In my Senior year of high-school. I took a classed called creative writing. It was my favorite, one of my best. Better than English. Better than Spanish; Nothing beat unleashing a tale on a white lined sheet of paper.

The Routine consisted of writing a tale and reading it out loud in front of the class… The class would then give their opinions and and advise you, telling what could of been better. This was done every week Cut,Copy,Repeat.

One day, after a reading  A student raises her hand high to the sky.

"I think your story was interesting!" She applies;saying that comment as if it was a compliment.

My teacher though differently "Interesting, is not a good word." "Think of all the things you have seen and people called interesting."

The class giggled The class agreed That nothing comes from the word. Interesting.

But of course I disagreed…

Because there are good things that come from. "Interesting."

An interesting article. An interesting book. An interesting picture. An interesting cook.

An interesting taste. Can send your taste buds to a new world. An interesting sound. Can make a woman feel like a little girl.

Send her on a nostalgic trip. Where Mamma’s cookies were always at her fingertips

Yes, Interesting has it’s benefits.

But there is one word. One word that causes fits and makes me mixed with nauseous emotions.

A word that makes sure you will not fit nor exist in the eyes of the human populus… And that word…

  Is Unique.

  I DESPISE the word unique

  Cause you see. Unique. Never did anything for me.

The word unique is applauded in modern society. You are a deity if you are unique. It say’s so here. In people’s week.

But I Have been feeling less like a deity. I have been feeling less like a person. I have been feeling… Unique.

Weak and scared.

People look at me like I am some sort of freak because I do not speak that unique speech that their kind preach.

Not even the nerds care to peek at whats underneath my flesh like sheet because they’re scared they’ll find monstrous teeth.

Which didn’t exist. Until they threw me in the abyss.

Which didn’t let me go. No matter how hard I pushed, pulled, and throw. Until it was done with me And made me into this crow.

It sent me on my way. To an army of doves made of wicked snow.

so… No Unique is not my word.

Because all unique gave me was the countless nights of lost sleep. Endless hours of therapy Being a statistic of the bullied. A ruined love life, cause a monster can love me. Having thoughts of suicide and sadistic killings. And being the odd one..of my family

  The class can giggle. That class can agree That nothing good comes from the word "Interesting"

  But if you ask me. I trade unique for interesting.

In a heartbeat…

                                                          …Cut,Copy, and repeat.

It felt like it was yesterday when I was between two golden arches Laying in between them in a forest As you seductively howled my name.

Loud enough to be called a scream. But low enough to be called  a whisper.

The right tone to bring in your listener. Your audience.

who awaits for another moan. Who  waits for another sin to be committed.

With every whimper a sin is born. But with every thrust this angel mourns happily.

The angel under the eye of god latches on my body and leaves marks  that this is the start of something ungodly.

Something unjust.

But something  more than ravenous lust.

Something great. Something beautiful. Something powerful, But unsuitable.

The lil golden angel knows shes going to hell… but shes enjoying the Ride.