1david-rey-blog

[1david-rey-blog]

Word

“Foreign poets are hotter, because we know war, we are born with war, we are the war. Our poetry has the deepest roots. Perhaps, the ugliest, the most delicious. The sharpest accent. The most heartbreaking metaphors. First generation, second generation, and you would still feel the agony the white men left in our grandfathers’ skin. And dare me, I lick my fingers and I eat your European food with pride my darlings, for our spices made your countries.”

— My Grandfathers Own Europe from The Immigration Series by Royla Asghar 

[1david-rey-blog]

The monster.

its 5 in the morning, and I am still awake.  I was about to sleep, but i couldnt. i woke up again, and now i am up.  5 in the fucking morning, and my eyes have stoped creating a dark, circular sea around the what used to be very white to now white and dark with red vains poping out.  you can tell that i am slightly pissed.  slightly, “not chill bruh” I have a Monster, under my bed. and I am not friends with it. It keeps me awake, i have sleepless nights, and sleepfull days, i do not live but at night, i am loosing controll over how much i can do in my time where every; EVERYONE IS AWAKE AND HAVING FUN:  I am loosing controll of existing in my gf life, over how much i am in my own life, i have isolated my self, unwillingly: I am trully, alone.  I am awfully, honestly, trully, alone.  yes i go to a therapy group, but how does that even help, when i cant tell them, how bad. how bad, HOW FUCKING BAD this monster is.  This monster that makes me forget things this monster that makes me think of the awwful things and the brutal things in life, the brutality of my childhood. the brutality that was imprinted to me, into my eyes, into my body and soul. ‘ ive told my friends that the first step to improve what ever you want to improve,is to accept it. to accept your conditions. neutralise your feelings, make it even.  but i havnt told them that they can take a step back like me. be dragged back down into the pit hole, the deepest part of the ocean.  i know i have to accept my condition, instead of escaping thru my screens, the shows and the bright light.  switch off the light, close down the screen, lock it, fuck it. shut off.  and let there be silence. let my brain have the ram, the shut off.  let my body loosen.  Loose controll of what really matters. and its, my body.  My monsters, hunt me at night, where i am alone. they take me away from wht i can grab to. and isolate me like bullies.  I am a victim of rape and abuse, discrimination, racism and sexism.  yet i am strong enough to try, and make today count. put in the first brick again. turn off the lights, let my  brain do its job. shut down my eyes and wake up in 5 hours.  I KNOW I CAN DO THIS; IVE PROVEN MY SELF: ILL DO IT AGAIN!

[1david-rey-blog]

creepy childhood.

my GF knows a lot about my childhood. she knows my dad had anger issues and took them out on my brother and me, my Gf knows that i have been bulied when i was little, my GF knows i started speaking at 7 and my GF knows i have been raped.  My GF doesnt know, the Creepy side.  My GF doesnt know that my borther had abilities and so did my dad. She doesnt know that i did too, and i found them years before i got raped but vanished after that.  She doesnt know that i was able to see.  my brother able to hear and talk, and my dad to explore.  MY brother was able to talk to the spirits of our family member and my dad frequently visited the inbetween of the energetic world and ours.  it w<as when i was 9 that i discover that there where people that other didnt see.  it began when  i walked back from school, and i saw a fellow student ( i thought it was) siting on a fence waiting for their parent as a lot of kids where, until i asked out of curiosity a class mate who that was, but she didnt see him, so i asked some one else the next day because i thought she was just pulling a prank on me, but thats when i realized that i had abilities.  I saw.  I saw spirits that used to live or never lived.  it was scary at first but i got used to it until i became 11  it started to aproach me, the spirits or what ever.  They shaked their head when a friend of mine came over, they followed my family and sometimes would throw bad looks at them, sometimes they would show up at night. and sometimes they would wake me up in time for school.  i had dreams of them and with them.  the scariest part is perhabs the mom, she was the most protective one, she would follow my then best friend, and do mean things, of course nothing happened but, it was scary.  its only today when looking back what it all ment.  what was going on.  I always say ghosts arent real because, i dont believe in the typical “buh” thing.  its not that.  they see you. they behave like normal people, but, they seem a bit in their own world. as if theyre day dreaming.  they can be great friends.  but you shoudlnt let them too close. just in case. 

[1david-rey-blog]

You can call yourself a pacifist when you stop beating the shit out of yourself.

FROM THE VAULT! Katie Higgins - “Hi, Hello, My Name Is…” (TGS 2014)

Performing during prelims at the 2014 Texas Grand Slam. Help bring Button to you.

(via buttonpoetry)

just discoverd that i am not a pacifist. 

[1david-rey-blog]

unKnown conTact.

[1david-rey-blog]

unKnown conTact.

oh, oh... surprise surprise. braveheart, soft soul. old goal - a new approach. brave fist, iron kiss. burned hand, fast legs, slow time. fast thoughts,  slow mouth. focused eyes, cold view. warm words, long hugs. endless. relentless. rough edges, smooth surface. fast face, long hair Indian nosed revel. passive rebel. emotional from the core to the heart. restless. closed eyed spiritual. deep thought Treble. hidden heart burden. forever seeking purpose. best viewed at Loge. disguised by the distance. The closer you get, the better you see. the closer you are. the more you will feel. the further you are, the less you will hear. the further you stand... my friend I am sorry. known for his laugh, unknown by tears.  known for restlessness unknown of sadness. known for idiocracy, unknown pain. there is no gain in self-harm.

[1david-rey-blog]

Abuse.

In silence, she stares at her phone.  in silence, i look at her with eyes of madness.  in silence, she ignores my screams echoing in the silent room.  in silence, she manages to stay calm.  In silence, i stay after having been abused.  in silence I stay, when madness doesn't find a hold.  in silence, i grew up.  in silence, i whisper fuck you. 

[1david-rey-blog]

I want to be free.

I figure i can turn men gay.  and I think it all started when my best friend raped me.  or way before that, maybe he saw something in me, that made him attracted to my 12-year-old, box-like, fragile labeled body. if it was my eyes or my ass.  the way I sleep or breath, or just the way I am. or maybe it was all of these things above.  it continued, some men giving me weird stares, hugging me too long, trying to be physical when all I ever wanted was to feel my own body and no one else. even when I didn't dare to touch me, even when I felt disgusting.  it continued, when a little boy, much younger than me grabbed my ass, and I felt powerless. thinking to my self repeatedly in harsh breathtaking motions, that he just liked curves, that he might just start to find bodies attractive that it's not me because if it would be me, it would be. perhaps because I am too attractive...  it continued for when the first photographer that would make professional pictures of me, want nude pictures of me, for how he focused on my body, not the actions of my sport.  it continued for when I went for the modeling pictures and he grabbed my private part. and I stayed silent for a second to whisper a no he luckily heard and respected. and again I was left with the same motion like thoughts that said that he just missed the situation because I AM ASEXUAL! I keep on with this kind of thoughts whenever a man stares at me too long because I have superpowers. I have superpowers after all the abuse I had to go thru.  Superpowers that, doesn't save people, but rather, protect one little child inside me, that is still stuck in the time of where he got raped.  stuck at 12. with a body labeled as model and nigger, gorgeous, cute, a smile that can make some people blush, with a body that attracts eyes, that stare a bit too long.  it continues for when I can tell that someone is gay by the way they stare at me.  But it has also changed. for when I see that also girls, turn their head to see me.  but it didn't change much for when they didn't hear the word no, for when they tried to take my clothes off. for when they stalked me when changing.  it didn't change too much.  I still have the same thoughts, it doesn't matter the gender. I still feel uncomfortable with other people pressing their tits, on my shoulder in public spaces, for when they try to grop me in public.  I get raped. i got raped. but the worst part is that i try to make my self-believe that all this is just in my head.  I am a MAN  this shouldn't be happening to me, it shouldn't be happening.  all I want is to be able to feel my self the way my significant other can make me feel.  I want to look at my self for how she sees me. for how she respects me.  I only want to be touched with respect. I only want my girlfriend to touch me. 

[1david-rey-blog]

Walking away. Comming again.

I walk outside, to run away, every Monday at the same time i run away from a pace that makes me feel better, think about the deep things the deep scars put a name, a feeling towards my fear, stop thinking to start talking and listen to the other. i run away in fear of thinking to keep on feeling like i can talk, i hate thinking. i want to talk and at the same time i am afraid of what could happen, i don't rust my self with not thinking. and these thoughts go thru my head, but today i thought about if they like me, if they want me to be there. but he wanted to give me a high five, he said sorry felt i was rushing already, i had my jacket zipped up outside not inside. i come out he says hi, i see his hand vanishing into his pocket i lift my hand look at the ground he holds my hand making me turn away from my fear of thinking hold me in the moment, and says, i am sorry for the name but i really like your first name, its super cool, not as normal as David. I like it.  i said, yeah thank you its just because in school... he keeps talking, i feel like they like me, they want me there. i feel a connection i haven't felt in a long time, a welcoming feeling.  and then it hits me, i am not afraid of thinking, or i am but i think because i am alone, i only talk to 2 people, i need friends.  i call my self David, because i have learned that normal is beauty in peoples mind but my normal is boring, because its forced, people want to see me, the inner me, the unique me the rey after the pi the 1 before the David.  to who ever reads this, i have news.  I AM COMMING, I AM IMPROVING; I AM BETTER.

[1david-rey-blog]

RAGE.

is silence, when the natural thing to do is to yell.  Rage, is when something unfair happens, even if its far in the past and it still manages to get on your nerves to ruin your day in the present.  Rage is when your co-workers, your classmates or family members pick on you, and it seems that it has never stopped.  Rage is when you've seen the people, you've seen how humans are and the person you wish the best for, says that there is good in everyone once you get to know them. although she knows exactly thru what kind of hell you went thru, because of people, you knew from the inside out.  Rage is when you feel like the world has planed a plot against you.  Rage is the breaking news on the tv when you sit in your room and hear the news voice creeping thru your door telling you on a sunny wonderful day about a mass shooting. a terror attack.  Rage is when your world crumbles to pieces by just one simple text  “I am done”  Rage is what you do when you wake up sweaty and with a sore throat and punch a pillow until you feel like fainting because you realize, that it was just a dream and that everything bad that is happening now to you is just not your fault but rather, bad luck of being with the wrong father that abused you, the wrong friends that picked on you, not respecting how you felt.  Rage is what you can do in many different ways like saying fuck this shit, I don't want to be so broken, I will hug a stranger today. fuck this shit I will go outside for an hour and say fuck you to my fear of people... rage is choosing, not to. not to scream and yell at someone. not to attack your other with verbal accusations.  Rage is what you can do, when everything before, is giving you reasons to. but strength is what defines you when you choose not to.   when things can come back to you to squeeze your heart once again, but it hurts less, and you decide, to write about it.  or sing about it.  put it out there. let it go, open your palms and blow your fingers with a strong burst of air.   Blow the dust of the past away and read your hands. read how old you've become, look at your scars and breath in, feel how much you can still take.  look into the mirror and look at your face, look at who you have become. and try to see the person that you still are.  Your life is now in your hands. you decide where you want it to lead to. decide what your next step will be.  Rage for a moment, live the next. 

[1david-rey-blog]

Doubt.

I wrote her about my tremors that woke me up at night, i look at the clock and i know that in 2 hours, in 2 hours i might regret everything and end up taking my life.  my eyes are heavy but i am afraid of sleeping again. there is not a place near me, not even my skin i feel save in. i have become so afraid of causing stress being in the way, being too much, being too little, everything could be too much. too afraid of being too much.  

[1david-rey-blog]

Why I Shouldn’t Exist.

i cause trouble.  i cause trouble because,  well  i actually don't know why.  i just always have... i think.  Maybe i don't, maybe i am just trouble for some people, like my dad. Where whenever my childish me, 6 years old, got curious in the house and by accident did something wrong i got beaten up by my dad whenever my mom wasn't around. it didn't have to be much, wrong. But it always ended up in a beating.  i wasn't allowed to cry after that, if i did, it would just mean more beating.  Soon i learned not to cry when he was around, go to my room and cry very, very, silently. Screaming into the Pillow always helped reduce the loudness of my cry of pain and for help. i would always think of the only person that could stop this, my mom.  But she was never around, and my young self always assuming she knew, which she didn't, started to blame her.  it just took 4 years of constant abuse for me to exclude my self from my family, while stupidly feeling rejected and not accepted, i rejected them and didn't accept them.  i still don't.  however, the feeling of causing trouble has always stuck with me like gum does to your hair.  whenever my grades got bad i got abused, whenever the teachers said negative things about me, i got abused. and if not, it was always the most serious talk of my life “something has to change, what do you think is it”  me only being a child with 0 life experience except the one of feeling bad about my self for, well always, never knew the answer and was left with wild guesses for things I thought they might want to hear. we followed the things i listed, but nothing changed.  but maybe it's also the fact that got i bullied in all the schools i went to.  friends that turned against me, bullies who tried their force on me, well to be fair, i was quite thin and had an innocence face, that can sometimes piss people off i guess. it was either my pants or my shoes, my hair or my skin, my way to talk or to think. something had to change.  because all those things caused trouble.  from getting bullied i didn't want to go to school, from not wanting to go to school i got bad grades and with it, the bad talking about me from teachers and from that i got beaten up and the talk  “It happened again, i am lost, i don't know what to do with you anymore, do you want to be poor ?” - “is it that you're stupid?” -”I don't think you're stupid i just don't think you want to study”  something, always had to change because if it didn't, it meant trouble.  it didn't matter how much i tried, it was never enough for better, it was never enough for a “wow”, “well done”, “you're doing good”, and maybe because i was always focused on changing, i never focused on finishing something. i finished school, but never a career, an assignment, homework, exams.  I am not a Stupid kid, i am just a fed up kid.  on days like these, i get fed up with the world.  Everything is unfair, my past was unfair, what it's doing now is unfair, what people do is unfair, that people, don't respect is unfair, that there is doping its unfair, that there is crime is unfair, Donald Trump is unfair, my dad is and was unfair, my siblings were unfair, my family was unfair, the world was unfair to my family, life... Life is unfair.  whatever happened in the past, So i have heard, Stays in the past.  A lie i would believe by word. because nothing stayed in the past. because the past still hunts me on the sweetest days, got me to a corner and my only escape is therapy where i don't always talk. because i don't trust people.  i am stuck.  when i feel rejected and i shouldn't, that causes trouble, trouble at a time that shouldn't be, caused more trouble. i caused the trouble.  because of my life in the past. i felt rejected because i felt rejected i felt bad because i felt bad, she felt bad, and she doesn't deserve to feel bad.  so it's my fault.  i have always caused trouble.  and trouble is no good When i think of doing something good for once i have a flashing thought of suicide, with the rationalization of ‘after all i have always been the one that causes trouble, so if i don't exist, i have just made a change, the change to never cause trouble again’  But then i think about the trouble for others, my mother, my girlfriend. perhaps my brother or my sister. i think, that after all this my dad is out of the picture.  so if i even try to change, if i even try to make no trouble, i will end up making trouble. i am fucked. 

I have always written I little, maybe because i don't see my self as something big after all that has happened. 

[1david-rey-blog]

Alone.

like a feather, torn apart from a bird, slowly gliding, drifting to the ground.  just to sit there, forever. alone.  Like the moment I wake up, and my arms, empty without purpose.  like standing up in silence.  Alone like the singular attempt for comfort on another's person arms, like the comfort of a stare of another person smile.  alone like the empty stare into the air with the flashing memories of shared laughter.  alone.  I  am Quite  alone.  yet there is this person, I remember her voice crystal clear, the vibration of her vocals on my eardrums, the sense in my eyes when I see her smile.  when she smiles. I can find my self-smiling too.   Yet there is that person, where I don't feel alone.  not at all, not a single bit and jet I can find my self-waking up in the middle of the night with my arms being light as a feather, drifting and gliding thru the air, just to end up pointing to the ceiling, my eyes closed and my lips moving to whisper her name in silence. Attempting to pray, for my soul to be forever next to hers, alone, but not in solitude. an attempt to pray for when my time has come, to be, in company and warmth.

[1david-rey-blog]

I remember the first time I got rejected. It was at school, it was because of my skin, i was too different, too dark. I also remember my first bully. I got rejected, a lot of times, so many times, i learned to hold my breath. I couldnt always hold it for long, but with practice, i learned how i could survive, without breathing.  I held my breath, and forgot to breathe, i held my breath, and never tasted air again. i turned into my self, only to find, i didnt like me. I turned my emotions, the wrong side out, and my expressions were faced towards me. I learned to hold my breath, and it started to hurt.  I held my breath for too long, my first time surviving, but not living. a boy told me i look funny, i shrugged it off, but cried when falling asleep.  I held my Breath, and i was chocking.  One day, my Best friend comes home, one last time, a time i wished he didnt come to stay over. but i held my breath, and no one knew. I held my breath, but now people beg me to breathe.  Its Funny how i held my breath, so many times that i forgot how to breathe, i forgot how to breathe in, i forgot how to breathe out.  But now, i am learning, but still i am hurting. 

[1david-rey-blog]

Things I have but can’t wear.

I have scars sometimes, they really suck, when they just make me fragile, sometimes I forget that I even have them. Like those 2 scars at the side of each eye, perfectly painting my skin in a never changing rosa red.  Sometimes, they camouflage, like the uncountable scars on my shins, i used to remember having my shin fairly well protected but now, i can feel my bone thru the thin skin... sometimes, sometimes i am disgusted by my own scars, like my 3 right fingers, dragging attention when i write on white paper, sometimes, just making another reason to be insecure about my self.  Sometimes, i am able to wear them, own them, carry them with pride, these are my marks of my stories, they look ugly at first, but at anyone second glance i see curiosity, sometimes their disgusting feeling doesn't vanish, until i tell them the story of them, sometimes, they see hope in 2 of them, sometimes they feel tragedy on what happened.  i always notice they forget, my lips carry one of the oldest scar i have, falling down on a rock, crashing on my head.  There is something i realized when i was 10, the tragedy of being broken inside on the early stages of my life, can bring great talent to shine, but with the consequence of pain with it, a lot of corners for my self. “when my soul wants to be round, my mind turns out to be a triangle”  i will always have these scars, scars of a broken soul, scars, marks of something broken. jet i know, i can choose and work so i can own them, wear them, let them shine with their unique lines and ridges, rough edges, and sensibility.

[1david-rey-blog]

I’ll be back soon.

-“ill be there soon babe” - “you will, but still I can’t wait”

because when you’re not around, I notice the thin air trying to get thicker in my head. because when the silence creeps in at night where I can only hear my breath, I start imagining ghosts next to me, keeping me up at night.  Because when you’re gone, I can’t rest. as a song played “when I am asleep I am awake because I cant rest”  My skin fills up with cold, I get goosebumps on my skin and sometimes it seems like I have a rare skin condition where it doesn't get away... I am depressed and filled with anxiety, I am paranoid and my skin closes up it pores to keep the warmth inside... as it seems I even try to push that out...  its when you wrap your arms around my fragile bones, i realize i am also a just Human, i am also, just as broken as my thoughts and periodless sentence are...  i write with out dots because i am unfulfilled. i have so many dreams and big goals, i cant help but to keep my self tiny and make those things unreachable.  I am not good enough for my self. but its nice to know you are. 

[1david-rey-blog]

losing grip

of what is there is the worst when your feet are hanging down a cliff.  and its scarry when the only thing yopu have grip of is reality, and the fact that your actions just move you further from it... leabing you with tired fingers, each and every single one geting affected