Infinity Years Old
At 1 year old, I said my first word. “Mama”, I said in bold, thinking I was already old.
At 3 years old, my parents told me goodnight stories; stories of dreams,
Pirates and thieves, lovely kisses and golden rings, brave warriors,
Integrity, family, passion and honor and love.
At 5 years old, I had learned to read, too well for my age,
I read them goodnight stories from books with worn pages,
The same stories that seemed to be ageless, stories of fantasy,
Poverty and riches, romance and treasures, heroes,
Integrity, family, passion and honor and love.
At 6 years old, I was reading chapter books, stories
That made me proud, stories that taught me that
Life doesn’t take place within ten pages. I
Went on adventures, adventures to win
Battles and find gold, soul mates and
Integrity, family, passion and honor and love.
At 8 years old, I began to grow old, daddy
Didn’t seem to love me anymore. I wrote
In diaries with messy handwriting, and tried
To lose myself in a world of
Integrity, family, passion and honor and love.
I found love in stories with happy endings,
Stories that didn’t say what my head did, which said
Lies, separation, carelessness and betrayal and hate.
At 13 years old, I was withered and cold,
Couldn’t bear what my heart had to hold.
Unexplained sadness, trauma, and lies,
Reality I couldn’t look in the eyes.
I knew it was fate, strong hands
And bruises left along my tiny waist
Answers left behind written words,
Those stories, in italic and bold,
Love kept me in the most painful of holds,
It hurt when they threw all of those stones.
Trying to forget, lost people and brokenness,
Bruises, red marks, broken hearts, and
Lies, separation, carelessness and betrayal and hate.
At 15 years old, I found hope in poetry,
In boys that would never notice me. I
Dreamed of love letters and trailer parks,
Lipstick stains on scruffy cheeks,
Underage kisses in empty bars,
Love made in shitty cars. I
Read words from men who would
Know how to treat me, from
Women who were happy, and
Wondered when I’d come clean,
Wondered when they’d meet me,
Wondered when I’d fell in love with sad stories,
Dark poetry, my lack of creativity,
With empty bottles and blackened hearts,
Misery, invisibility, bruises and bullshit and broken parts.
At 16 years old, I wanted to write
Anything that would tear me apart.
I wanted to make something more dreary,
Something to make my eyes less teary.
I wrote poetry, about being father’s little pearl,
How it faded and drowned me, how
He’s the one that pushed me, the first one
That broke me. I missed
Fairytales and happy endings,
Messages that would float to you in bottles,
Armor that could protect you,
Heroes that wouldn’t let you
Drown.
People that wouldn’t let you
Down. With
Misery, invisibility, bruises and bullshit and broken parts.
At 17 years old, I passed time
With my poems,
Messy and jagged to cut me,
Poetry in the blood I would bleed,
Poetry in the love I would need,
God, would someone just love me,
Tragedy and long nights and slit wrists
Poetry could breathe, poetry could hiss,
Comfort in the darkness I should never miss,
Words can’t express the things that I did,
Memories and loneliness and blurry eyes,
Sharpening knives for a battle I shouldn’t fight,
Fuck reality that made me lose my mind,
Nobody loved people of my type,
Not a princess, not a prize,
Just fat, ugly, and unkind,
Destructive, lifeless, ink and pages and sharp objects.
At 18 years old, I cried
Having wasted years of my life
I had lived in a castle with dreams of romance
To a cage with no key and destructive plans
I’m a ghost, empty and cold
Who writes words of things that I’d never spoke
With themes of heartache, suicide, and fate
I wish I was young to belong in this place
I had legends and royalty, victims and games,
Life has turned bleak, I can’t be saved anyway
Fingers down my throat and blood down a drain,
Tell me, how did I end up this way?
No sex in strange cars or sneaking into bars
Pain makes it hard to find shelter, I scar
Numbers, visions, anxiety-ridden,
Sleeplessness, my heart keeps caving in,
Tears, I wish I hadn’t made it this far
Insomnia, bones, fear and suicide and done.
I guess that I’m not a little kid anymore.