myimaginaryanthology

[myimaginaryanthology]

Recently i saw someone use a term

Something about it astounded me

On grief

Referring to it as is it was a drug

It was just so shocking because

It really is isn't it?

[myimaginaryanthology]

They taught me to lie at Your feet

When i said i loved You

i wanted to mean it

i'm still not sure it was a lie

When i got down on my knees

And pledged myself to You

Was it simply because it's what They told me to do

When i sat in Your pews

And ignored Their sermons

I was admiring Your fire's grace

They've gilded Your palace in gold

But there's mold on Your ceiling

That's got to hold some sort of meaning

Those much closer to you then i

Seem to contradict Your preachings

Even someone like me can see it

They take Your loving guide

And use it to damn those They disfavor

Can You blame me for doubting the rules They write with alarming ferver

Every word, every joke, every stance They take,

Seem to cotradict every one of Your lessons

Yet They claim its the masses that need re-education

It's been far too long since i've visited last

But They all insisted i come

Soon i'll pledge myself to You again

I know this time I won't mean it

Not sure if I even believe

That's there's a you out there to hear it

they all lie at your feet

I turned away and chose not to listen

[myimaginaryanthology]

Caught Between Good and Evil: The Poison Wrapped in Kindness

How do you mourn the man who broke you, But also fed you?

I got a message from my older sister today.

Two words:

“Pound dead.”

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t feel anything.

No rage. No sadness. Just silence.

And then:

“I wonder how she’s taking it the sister he molested.”

Trying to Understand What I Still Don’t Fully Understand

The thing about working through childhood trauma is that it’s not clean.

There are things I’ve buried so deep I’m scared to even name them.

Things that sit in me like a knot, things I fear will sound crazy if I say them out loud.

And yet they’re real.

They show up in the quiet.

In the happy moments I can’t fully enjoy.

In the way, I keep waiting for the mask to slip

for someone I love to turn into someone I fear.

We called him “Dad.”

He wasn’t our biological father, but he stepped in when no one else did.

He fed us.

Clothed us.

Took care of us like we were his own.

He worked hard, sold his produce, and supported the family.

To everyone else, he was a good man.

To me, for a while, he felt like safety.

But then it changed.

Because love doesn’t erase what he did to my sister.

What he chose.

What he broke.

And when I read “Pound dead,” it wasn’t relief or closure I felt.

It was numbness.

Like my body knew it had already grieved him

the moment he touched her.

And then came the other thoughts.

Not about me.

Not even about her.

But about them

my mother’s other children.

The ones he fathered.

The ones who knew him as Dad

and still do.

The ones who loved him because

he never hurt them.

Because their experience of him is different.

I think about how they’re coping.

Coping with the loss of their dad.

The man they knew as provider, protector, parent.

Their grief is real.

Their loss is valid.

But so is mine.

And it’s hard

to hold space for their mourning

while I carry trauma in my body from the same man.

It feels like we lived in two houses

under the same roof.

They got a father.

I got a warning.

And then there was my uncle.

My story.

He brought me from Jamaica.

He said he wanted me to have a better life. He smiled. He showed up.

He made me feel seen, safe, loved

He bought me books and clothes, gave them to my mother, and fed the community. He preached. He hugged me. He told me I was his favourite. And I believed him. Even as he broke me.

Even when the abuse went on, from twelve to nineteen.

Even as I ran away with nothing but my will to live.

What I’m trying to understand

what I’m still sitting with

is how people who once made us feel safe

could also be the ones who shattered that safety completely. And, how do you hold the memory of someone who fed you next to the memory of what they did in the dark? How do you process a kind hand that also became violent? How do you explain to anyone else that

you loved them, and still had to survive them?

This is the part no one prepares you for. The emotional whiplash.

The confusion. The way that love and trauma tangle so tightly

you can’t always tell where one ends and the other begins. It’s not just what they did , it’s what it taught me to expect from the world.

Now, I don’t trust anyone fully.

Even in joy, I’m bracing for the fall.

Even when someone holds me kindly,

part of me whispers, “wait…”

Because I’ve seen monsters wear angel faces before.

I’ve kissed the hand that hurt me.

I’ve slept under roofs that fed me and broke me in the same breath.

Am I the only one?

Some days I wonder if I’m the only one who feels like this.

The only one who loved their abuser.

The only one who misses the good moments and hates themselves for it. But I don’t think I am. I can't be.

And if you're reading this, maybe you're not either.

What I’ve Learned and Am Still Learning is you can love them.

And still never want to see them again.

You can remember their kindness.

And still never excuse their cruelty. You are allowed to feel the contradiction. You are not broken for being confused. You are human. You are healing. You are not alone.

You don’t have to show your face to speak your truth.

You don’t need all the answers to begin healing.

You just need to stop pretending it didn’t happen.

We’re not crazy. We’re surviving.

And we don’t have to do it alone.

If you're looking for someone to talk to, to just share your story, please drop me a message, lets heal together

[myimaginaryanthology]

I used to know the night

When i was young The night seemed perpetual, It signaled the end of work and play, And lest you fall asleep, It would not give way to day. One night, I laid awake, Determined to see the fall of the moon, But the night stretched too long, My eyelids grew too heavy, So again, i would find myself waking to the blinding sun. When the day ran too long, too loud, too busy. I learned to seek solace in nooks of the stars, I figured the eternal night could surley spare, A couple minutes here and there. As my days grew, so too did my nights. And my days only seemed to grow, Longer, slower, busier, heavier, Now, the night took on things the day had tossed aside. But surley the uncessant night could spare it's time. As i grew older, my days grew even more, They grew so full, so heavy, They were more than i could bear Only when i was unburdened of its weight hanging my bag on the Cresent moon, I would take the nights time to simply lay and breathe again. What once was time spent reclaiming parts of my life, Was now time spent trying my hardest to flee it, To stop it from encroaching on my borrowed time, When i didn't have to be. Growing older still, And the sun’s work seems to bleed into my night, And now, no matter how deep i crawl, Into the night's dark embrace, I can't escape the burn of the sun's rays. The time spent recovering, Is now just time used for buffering, A couple minutes of jogging Before being forced to sprint again. I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, I dread first calls of the mourning birds, I loath the rays storming through my curtains. And I can't help but wonder where time has gone. Now I lay awake because, day or night, my time keeps slipping away. Now i lay awake doing nothing. Now i lay awake trying to do anything but sleep. Because though i know untrue, I pretend the night is still eternal, and sleep is the herald of the sun. The stars no longer shield me from the noise of the day, The weight is now too heavy for even the moon to hold, The darkness of the night does no longer tucks me in and wraps me in its soft embrace.

But still I'm stealing it's time

[myimaginaryanthology]

[myimaginaryanthology]

Carbon Copies

You say they were the best times,  You forget the times have changed,  Say we should have some fun,  But don't get that they like different games. You tell stories of your glories, Reckless actions, from glory days   You yell at her thinking she's the same,  Yet still tell those tales without any shame.  You and your father, tell me tales, Bragging of rounds from younger days,  You say your heroes, yet claim she's a snake,  Like going out makes her a skank. You say you were out in the town, But that you never left your brood, Each time the story changes, Guess it depends on the mood. So she can't go out but I can't stay in, Just can't help but wonder,  Do you see the spot it puts you in? When you label all of it a sin?

[myimaginaryanthology]

Again and Again

I'll get out my plaster, And put on a smile, Just so they'll think that I might be worthwhile. I'll laugh at their jokes,  I'll hear all their woes, Do anything so long as it keeps status quo  They'll say that I'm kind, they'll say that I'm sweet.  But that's all that I am– That won't make me complete. So I'll change my opinions, Swap out my clothes, Tiptoe that line– careful not to impose. If they say I'm too noisy,  Say I'm too loud,  I'll fall into silence, never make another sound.   If they say I'm too dull, Say my voice much to hushed,  Then I'll say so many things it comes out in a rush.  I've sewn up the edges, smoothed every cease,  Yet this costume I've woven does not match my dreams, For the fabric still frays- and the holes only increase

[myimaginaryanthology]

Scheele's Buttercup

If they could feel the green, Growing in my stomach, Climbing to my heart, Bubbling up my throat– They'd never call me nice. If they could see the red, Swirling in my vision, Splattered on the floor, Raging in my head– They'd never call me mellow. If they could feel the blue, Wrapped around my neck, Tying up my lungs, Freezing all my blood– They'd never call me warm. If they knew that the yellow, They say glows around me, Wasn't love from butter cups, But toxic warning signs– They'd know I wasn't kind.  I try to see what they see,  In the picture i've portrayed,  Try to see the light, the grass, the little things– All they claim is in my painting, But I recall its making– The poison paint, The muddy water, All made by a nobodies daughter– Oh, why did I even bother? I may have lost the reference,  But I still see it in my head,  And somehow, I just know, It looks nothing like I planned. I'd like to step away,  For maybe a few days,  Come back, see it anew,  Maybe then I'll see it like they do… With flowing creeks, with endless skies,  Well worn-paths, birds flying by, Bright green trees and buttercups– Maybe then, It will feel enough.

[myimaginaryanthology]

Scheele's Buttercup

If they could feel the green, Growing in my stomach, Climbing to my heart, Bubbling up my throat– They'd never call me nice. If they could see the red, Swirling in my vision, Splattered on the floor, Raging in my head– They'd never call me mellow. If they could feel the blue, Wrapped around my neck, Tying up my lungs, Freezing all my blood– They'd never call me warm. If they knew that the yellow, They say glows around me, Wasn't love from butter cups, But toxic warning signs– They'd know I wasn't kind.  I try to see what they see,  In the picture i've portrayed,  Try to see the light, the grass, the little things– All they claim is in my painting, But I recall its making– The poison paint, The muddy water, All made by a nobodies daughter– Oh, why did I even bother? I may have lost the reference,  But I still see it in my head,  And somehow, I just know, It looks nothing like I planned. I'd like to step away,  For maybe a few days,  Come back, see it anew,  Maybe then I'll see it like they do… With flowing creeks, with endless skies,  Well worn-paths, birds flying by, Bright green trees and buttercups– Maybe then, It will feel enough.

[myimaginaryanthology]

To Poison Blood Your Very Own

They say squabbling is normal between  siblings,  That, I believe,  They say arguments are common between siblings,  That, I can believe,  They say it gets better as you grow older,  That, I find hard to believe. They say deep insults comes with the territory,  That, I wish I did not believe. They say love is a instinct between siblings,  That, I wish I could believe. They say hatred is a natural in sibling bonds,  That, I could never believe.  For if hatred was such a natural thing,  Why does it make my skin crawl in a way I've never known before? I know that people who use such words so lightly,  Have never truly felt the weight of the word. For if they had ever felt the way your heart pumps poison,  and your mind is made blank from the gore,  only for that momentary flicker to turn to disgust,  at the thought of what you would do to your sun, your light, your life.  If they had ever felt that moment,  as the emotion takes root, as every movement, every moment, every thought, that was once solely for the purpose of that one person, begins to deny their existence entirely. Only to see the emotion to die down Like a predator lying in wait. If they had felt that urge,  to make them pay for the countless, nameless wrongs– ones you can no longer even remember, only to regain sense a moment later  and sit agape in horror at what might have been. If they had ever felt such a thing,  even for a second, they could never describe it as natural.  For such feelings are like having your skin flipped inside out,  Your organs replaced with writhing bugs.  Your body becomes so foreign,  that the only emotion left is disdain.  Your body appears so grotesque,  that all that is left is disgust. For hatred can only born from love.  And to deny what you once loved, Something once held so dear to you,  That it shaped your entire being, Well that is to deny your very own existence.

[myimaginaryanthology]

Reblogging because this was meant to be for today but my que got all messed up

this is another rather old poem!

Sugar Only Leaves Rotten Teeth

“Oh, how kind! Oh, how sweet!” Those words keep me safe, they keep my peace. Yet in their light praise her envy reeks So, softly hushed, I tread her line, Can't be too sweet, must let her shine, Try to quell her burning anger, in hopes she'll spare me her precious time.  Do what she says, do all she asks, Do every single tiny task. In hope she’ll gift me her smile at last.  A tumble, a thud, my frantic gasp, Should never have ever done that stupid task. She sure has left me rather fast.  Have to win their praise, but still avoid her ire, Their love is all I truly desire.  Would never guess that I would tire. I've gone to far, I've been to sweet,  Should've known their blessing spelled my defeat. But I know I've only sowed what I have reaped. I've quelled the storm, they're glad at last Though she still burns, her fury vast I'll mend it soon, her wrath won't last. Such sentiments were quite rash.

Later, of course, Theyre made aware,  I stupidly revealed the whole affair, Now I'm not the one to secure their glare She's been offended, I've done her wrong,  I been a treacherous, unfaithful pawn, Now how will I ever belong? To appease her temper,  I sought to become her defender! But they seem to think I'm a pretender They say I'm too kind, that I'm too sweet, For putting up with my sister's conciente, How they don't notice I don't know, but her icy stare is hardly discreet. At first i wonder, Why do they think I've lied? But as I watch her face I realize, I should've never even tried, I know what's next and I'm terrified. Once they're gone, her eyes, they gleam, She begins to hit and kick and scream, I can feel my tears begin to stream. Can't make a peep, no, not a sound,  In case they're still somewhere around,  Too late, it seems, that we've been found. A shout, a smack, her soft whimper, Her poisoned words now said through a filter,  Gone once they think all is said and done, tonight will surely be no fun. From my bed I hear her speak, “You've got it good, you've got it sweet” I could see her trembling through her sheets “You'd never be able to understand”  “I bet you'd never be able to withstand” “You see, none of them love me, my blood be damned” So that's how she sees it, thats what she thinks. All I can really do is blink. It was like blood splattered on a marbled sink. How dare she say that, she has no right, But she couldn't have known her words were a slight, And I knew better than to start a fight. I should have told her then.  Should have never resigned.  Nowdays I doubt she'll ever know of these thoughts of mine. 

[myimaginaryanthology]

this is another rather old poem!

Sugar Only Leaves Rotten Teeth

“Oh, how kind! Oh, how sweet!” Those words keep me safe, they keep my peace. Yet in their light praise her envy reeks So, softly hushed, I tread her line, Can't be too sweet, must let her shine, Try to quell her burning anger, in hopes she'll spare me her precious time.  Do what she says, do all she asks, Do every single tiny task. In hope she’ll gift me her smile at last.  A tumble, a thud, my frantic gasp, Should never have ever done that stupid task. She sure has left me rather fast.  Have to win their praise, but still avoid her ire, Their love is all I truly desire.  Would never guess that I would tire. I've gone to far, I've been to sweet,  Should've known their blessing spelled my defeat. But I know I've only sowed what I have reaped. I've quelled the storm, they're glad at last Though she still burns, her fury vast I'll mend it soon, her wrath won't last. Such sentiments were quite rash.

Later, of course, Theyre made aware,  I stupidly revealed the whole affair, Now I'm not the one to secure their glare She's been offended, I've done her wrong,  I been a treacherous, unfaithful pawn, Now how will I ever belong? To appease her temper,  I sought to become her defender! But they seem to think I'm a pretender They say I'm too kind, that I'm too sweet, For putting up with my sister's conciente, How they don't notice I don't know, but her icy stare is hardly discreet. At first i wonder, Why do they think I've lied? But as I watch her face I realize, I should've never even tried, I know what's next and I'm terrified. Once they're gone, her eyes, they gleam, She begins to hit and kick and scream, I can feel my tears begin to stream. Can't make a peep, no, not a sound,  In case they're still somewhere around,  Too late, it seems, that we've been found. A shout, a smack, her soft whimper, Her poisoned words now said through a filter,  Gone once they think all is said and done, tonight will surely be no fun. From my bed I hear her speak, “You've got it good, you've got it sweet” I could see her trembling through her sheets “You'd never be able to understand”  “I bet you'd never be able to withstand” “You see, none of them love me, my blood be damned” So that's how she sees it, thats what she thinks. All I can really do is blink. It was like blood splattered on a marbled sink. How dare she say that, she has no right, But she couldn't have known her words were a slight, And I knew better than to start a fight. I should have told her then.  Should have never resigned.  Nowdays I doubt she'll ever know of these thoughts of mine. 

[myimaginaryanthology]

Feelings to Flesh

If emotions could manifest, mine would craft a thousand deaths. The fog in my chest would drown me, The churning of my stomach would make it burst, The lump in my throat would deprive me of air, The splitting of my skull would bleed me dry, The sewing of my lips would leave my body to wither, The pain in my spine would snap it in half, I would die over and over, and I couldn't, wouldn't stop it.  My organs would come flooding out my mouth, My ribs would break and pop my lungs,  My blood would boil my brain,  My face would melt away,  My skin would start to decay,  My bones would freeze and snap, Even now I feel my emotions clawing at me,  My anger tears me limb from limb, My sadness melts my bones, My fear turns me to stone, My guilt squeezes my heart, My dread turns me inside out,  And I can do nothing about this.  I twist and turn but try as I might  These feeling are left brewing My face contorts all sorts of ways,  But I cannot get the tang out my mouth, I lay unmoving, the light in my face, And pretend my feelings fade away.

[myimaginaryanthology]

I'm not sure if this counts as a poem, and if it does, it's definitely an incomplete one, but oh well, I'll be back to fix it up, or I won't

Sometimes it feels like my world is what I read and my life is just what happens in between.  I wander like a specter among undead, Through a castle made of shifting sand.  There's no chains on my blurry soul, no bind to keep me grounded, I float above my body, lying on the floor  So when I find those moments, So real, textured and weighted, I try to store them, keep them safe, keep them near, to keep me here, And once again my corpse has a soul, But it's like keeping water in cupped hands, You can prolong but not prevent.

[myimaginaryanthology]

T O R N

A world devoid of vibrant hues,

Where conformity was all I'd choose,

but in this quiet I chose to seeek my voice,

And when I heard its echoes I could only rejoice.

Yet, now the colors blaze all too bright,

And and all the NOISE drowns out the peace of night,

Was this the peace I sought to find?

Or just another cage of mine?

In seeking solace I found discord,

With all this turmoil I thought there'd be a reward,

Yet now, seeing all the splattered stains,

I can't recall what I'd hoped to gain.

A sense of me? A vision a dream?

Don't you know wanting more leaves you

t e a r i n g

at the seams?

I should have known better, had some sense of mind

Why'd I wish for something more than to pass the time?