skytchek

I have found darkness in the light. Locked doors begin denying me opportunities, Their pine scent masking my cologne. That attempt of expressing myself, The spray that stings beneath the roots of my pale skin. The sting that reminisces in my flesh, From evenings that I would lather sanitizer in my wounds, That attempt of hurting myself. Who would have ever thought that I would gasp? That I would sew myself off from my hands? I will deny myself any further attempt, Those attempts of choking myself. Gaping holes that spew out shower water, My skin tingles when my body convulses to breathe. I refuse to stand by while my lungs reject life, Those

A porcelain doll wanting so badly for some color in her cheeks, But every time she finds an artist to paint her they are too rough And her cheeks end up cracked and caved in. Why can't she just paint them herself? She knows her capacity, how much pressure she can take, But no one will let her hold a brush because she is too messy And she doesn't mind if some color gets outside of the lines. But that's too much. She shouldn't blush that much, It brings too much attention And that isn't how every other doll wears her colors.

I used to pray, not like the every night before bed type of praying, but I prayed. I was raised and baptized in a Roman Catholic Church, where I used to pray. I confessed my sins to Father, a priest so-to-say. I told him that I drank water in my bedroom when I wasn’t supposed to; my mom didn’t want the water to spill on the carpet so she forbade it. He asked me why I felt the need to confess this, I told him it was because I felt guilty. He told me that was good. I used to pray when my mom cried, I prayed when my father left her; truth is I was happy that he did. I would pray that my dad made it home safely from his travels. I p

Take my limbs apart. Kill every chemically-induced cell, I don't want it anymore. Carry my brain to every cliff, Hover it over the edge, As a rich housewife would do with her drunken body over the mansion balcony. Dressed in all white, black make-up, yet lips as red as the blood soon to be splattered onto her daisies in the downstairs garden, Hidden in the backyard that she had an affair in. Break every bone, Anything you see - Break, squeeze, SHATTER. But, and this is very important: Save the hands. Keep every finger intact. Each nail shall be perfectly painted. For these, THESE were her magic wands. She wrote, typed, curved letters into

The delicate plucking of petals that encompass the vulnerability of love itself Shells of flower swaying in the wind, yet they hit the ground in a storm of bricks The stems carrying the evergreen pigment of pure jealousy in long-lasting existence Dancing in the wind with their leaves twirling in a choreographed baile of nature A man envious of a month’s youth from a portrait is oblivious to his eternity-ridden veins Seven mornings pass after the awakening of the plant, pollen swirling into the atmosphere Seven nights pass bearing gifts of sunless, crisp breezes that prune each hugging blade A supple stalk dressed in idle fronds, somethi

“I want you to promise me something, okay?” The wind was tickling the grass between our toes, “Okay, I promise.” She plucked a flower from the bush at her side, Put it behind my ear, and said: “Never stop going out of your way to crunch a leaf under your bare foot, never stop tracing your hand into a turkey on construction paper, never stop dancing in the wind while stranded flower petals join you for every spin, don’t stop yourself from eating cookies during the holidays, leave enough time for you in the mornings before school so you’re not rushing, never forget to say thank you, hold the door f

I believe that people should become more educated about mental illnesses. I believe that words carry heavy meanings, even the slightest term could provoke a distressing emotion to emerge from the depths of someone’s being. I believe that all people should be conscientious and acknowledge the fact that some people actually suffer from the adjectives others throw around. I, most importantly, believe that mental disorders should not be romanticized. Imagine it, one in eight teens suffer from depression. So, for all of you uneducated students, dispersing highly offensive quotes, such as “stressed, depressed, but well dressed

She traveled four sunsets and three moon awakenings to find what she once had. Her bones where the pathways she followed, veins the road maps she disregarded. The tension that created a puddle in her brain made her mad. Her companions left two sunrises ago, leaving her belittled by her own thoughts. “Were they not supposed to protect me?” She pondered. Her nose scrunched and fractured, her ankles tied in knots, She fought to keep going, it would be dissatisfying for her to discontinue. Gazing upon her white shadow was a fair and pale rabbit, munching on her satchel. All of the power that had abandoned her body returned and

Curling her fingers in attempt to grasp the light illuminating her profile, She had a child in her throat, crying for the comfort she had grown attached to. She was lost, confused, her emotions were volatile. The arms that once cradled her through the debris of the unspoken world above her head, Were now miles away, ripped from the palms of her protector. The miles will drive them apart, forgetting every word of symbolism they had once said. The protector would wrap her head in soft nothings, quiet whispers of love. Songs that filled her crib with warmth no blanket could replicate, Were now a humming white noise washed out by the whim

She missed outside. But no one would take her for walks. She loved animals. But no one would let her touch one. In fear of her damaging or harming it. Yet, no one noticed when she inflicted it onto her own self. People ask, But no one truly wants to know what you do, Or think, Or feel, At 2am on a Saturday. In fact, you could tell them all of the great things, What you did that afternoon, The day before, or the day after, But if you tell them one bad thing and a million great things, All they will recognize is the one bad thing. That is how people are. And every time they would so much as look at you, All they will see is that one bad thing s