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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
Return from cold trails
to find a crackling warm fire
and freshly grilled trout.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
How dare you proclaim that I am perfect!
See these scars?
I am weak!
See these tears?
I don't even know why I'm crying!
My mind is my prison,
keeping me locked up while depression holds the key!
I try to move past the little things,
but they are like cannons,
going off in my head getting louder...
louder!
To the point that I can't even hear myself think!
How dare you proclaim that I am perfect!
I was happy once,
but then my demons grew and possessed who I was.
They left me a mess,
a shell of the person who used to be alive.
Who used to be alive,
because now I feel dead inside!
Who I was was an inmate sent to death row,
charged with the crime of joy.
I was happy once,
back when depression was just a fairy tail,
and when I never knew the feeling of "emptiness".
I feel empty and cut myself just to feel something!
I choose pain,
because nothing else will work.
I would rather see my crimson life source running down my arms,
than to talk with a friend.
A friend that my sickened mind causes me to hate.
My emotions are like a minefield.
I try to be wary of my steps,
but then someone trips me up and I explode into tears again.
I would give anything,
to be able to run across that field without blowing up!
I would give anything to be me again!
I would give anything to rid of this depression
my oppression,
the bane of my existence!
I am not perfect,
I am not sad,
I am not happy.
I am lost, I am a prisoner, I am innocent.
I am a writer, an artist, a girlfriend, and a daughter.
I am a good student, I am a good friend, and I am a good person.
My only flaw...
My disease...
My depression.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
hush! don't move, don't breathe
he will hear it– he will come.
your flesh is his prize.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
The ant steps lightly
gathering crumbs and messy
spills from hungry mouths.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
Beware the white horse of norwegian lore.
His power rippling through muscles,
his white mane,
dancing in the air like a ballerina on a string.
Mount him, I say!
Mount him!
And hold your breath as you both plunge into the depths.
A handsome young man, hear him play!
Magic springing off his bow.
Luring the people to a dance.
That ends in their death.
To learn of his ways,
is a dare of its own.
For the price you must pay,
may be your soul.
Take a gander at that log,
the water lily,
the boat.
Do not be fooled,
for he is a master of disguises.
Stand upon the log and you shall fall.
Pick the flower and you shall drown.
Board the boat and you shall sink.
Beware the white horse of Norwegian lore,
The log that lies in wait.
The beautiful lily.
The abandoned boat.
And the alluring fiddle you hear in the night.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
You aren't the woman I saw,
back when I was little.
You seemed so strong,
I guess that is why I was shocked when you cried.
I remember all the memories,
you, my two friends, and I.
We would always make so many things,
crafting became our everyday ritual.
painting, baking, puzzles, and necklace making.
You kept me happy,
hiding me from the shadows.
From all the things that were out to get me.
I now see who you were,
a druggie,
a drunk.
I don't blame you, no,
It was his fault.
That pathetic excuse of a man.
The thing keeping you from seeing your only son.
At one point I heard you proclaim,
through tears,
and sobs.
You thought I was asleep,
but I heard every word.
"I want to die!"
four words that showed me,
your love for my half brother and I.
I see you now,
proud and happy.
I remember laughing the day we got our bunny.
I remember the strawberries,
and the fireworks.
The bead crafts,
and gel pens.
I remember our long crazy talks,
and cleaning out the old attic.
I remember the dumpster dives,
and the birthday gifts.
I remember your face,
smiling, happy, loving;
and I know that even after you're old and senile,
I'll still love you.
Fully heartedly,
my mother.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
Floating above me
white wispy clouds turning gold
against the bright sun
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
While I may act fully confident about who I am,
that is only partially true.
Truth is I hate who I am,
and the scars on my arm reveal it.
I refuse to see my beauty,
after all who can be beautiful when every time they look down,
they are reminded of their pain.
I see myself as fat...
Yes... Then I feel like not eating, or at least eating less.
My mind just keeps saying,
"118 pounds is too much, you should be 96 pounds.. Like you were last summer."
But last summer I didn't know who I was,
and about gave up on love completely.
After all how can someone understand love when every time they hear the words "I love you",
that person wants something more?
But wanting more always seemed more interesting,
so I didn't stop him when he touched me.
This went on for too long,
and on the night I was going to tell,
the person I trusted ended himself.
So life alone in a hoarders home became my fate.
Living life to the fullest became my bane,
And inside my shell I crawled.
Safe and sound inside my little ball.
The depression grew when on New Years Eve my skin met a knife..
That's when pain became my mind's game,
and when I became addicted.
I began having thoughts of how I wished someone would hurt me.
How I wanted to be raped,
how I wanted to to be kidnapped,
how I wanted to feel like my life was in danger.
Maybe then they would notice me,
maybe then they would feel bad.
For months I didn't know who I was,
hiding underneath a mask,
making everyone think I was happy.
And after the constant pain,
I wanted to give up on love for good.
Until he said that he loved me.
He was sincere and i fell for him hard.
His never ending love cradled me.
And my never ending depression shadowed him.
But still he loved me,
the sad little girl I am.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
I wish I had her genes...
She is so much prettier than I.
She has long, soft blonde hair,
and sparkling blue eyes.
But if I looked like her,
would I be me?
Would I have the same thoughts?
The same dreams?
Or would I just be her,
and not realize who I used to be?
If I was her and she was me,
would she think the same?
Would I wish to be her?
Would she wish to be me?
No, I would not wish that on her,
I would not dare.
So I'll just sit and wonder,
who would I be,
if I had her genes?
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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Kayleen Ashwood Poem
I’m covered by the dark,
and on my arms I carry the devils mark.
Shadows yelling and bubbling from within,
their torment makes me want to claw at my own skin.
Demons shriek in my ear and refuse to fade,
Their claws slicing into my skin like razor blades.
Blood trickles free as I gasp for God’s help,
my arm covered in the marks of hell.
It is not sorrow that causes their shouting,
it is self hate and self doubting.
Copyright © Kayleen Ashwood | Year Posted 2015
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