What's going on here?

What's going on here?
Well Amanda and Emily both have goals to write more. Amanda wants to write a poem and a half a day for the next year, while Emily wants to write for National Write a Novel Month (NaNoWriMo), which is usually in November, but she is going to do it from now until her mission on May 18th. Here is were you can follow us in our goals! Leave comments, encouragement, and what ever else you feel like.

Friday, September 30, 2011


(Please note this poem is about self-harm, if you are at all sensitive to it, please don't read)
I remember the first time I held a knife to my wrist.
I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7.
Young enough that I shouldn’t have been doing that.
Young enough that my problems were too small for that.
But they washed over me like a babe before the sea
They tumbled me and turned me upside down
And I didn’t know the way out.
No one knew the way in either.
I remember that night when I was 15.
Many knives had been held between the first time and 15.
I remember how words,
Just simple words,
Had caused me to sit down
Sit down and write a note.
I opened the bottle.
The phone rang.
My problems were still not the problems of majority.
They were not large unscaleable mountains
But I had small hands and feet.
No guide to show me.
I was once again drowning.
 And I remember the last time.
The smell of my own flesh burning
The shapes carved there
Red badges demonstrating to the world I was broken
That at 17 I couldn’t fight my battle
I was a matador crippled by some unknown force.
Facing the horns of a bull with no name and no shape.
It felt too good.
Felt too whole.
Felt too honest.
I vowed never again.
Never again because I knew if I ever tried again
If I ever took that second step into the darkness
I’d never look back.
I’d find myself too far down that path
Or maybe I’d fall into that darkness.
Not a single scar remains.
No scratch upon this neon skin of mine.
But sometimes I wish there was.
Wish there was something to show the mountains I climbed.
The bears and tigers and bulls I fought.
But there is nothing.
Nothing but a head full of ideas
And a heart still completely locked. 

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