i can’t write for you

I came across a post on Facebook a couple of days ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It was posted by another writer and I remember reading it and immediately thinking, I wish more people would get this. 

The post was a quote and it read, “I wasn’t born to convince you to believe me. I choose to show up in this space for me and for the ones who find comfort in my art. I talk about the dark parts of my childhood because those stories are worth telling. It’s my way of giving a voice to my inner child. It is okay with me if my art doesn’t resonate with you. I didn’t create it for you.”

I think the reason those words are still with me is because I didn’t always think that way. As much as I agreed with these words, it forced me to think about the time in my life where I felt the complete opposite. 

Are my words good enough? 

Am I good enough?

This was a constant thought. I would hesitate to write anything in fear that my words and experiences wouldn’t be good enough for those who would actually take time and read it. It was exhausting quite honestly. I would analyze experiences that I went through trying to word in it ways that would satisfy OTHER PEOPLE.   Crazy right? 

I would become obsessed about who was reading my work, or if anybody was reading it all. I focused more on what others thought of my work instead of my actual work. 

It wasn’t just in my writing either. I sought approval and acceptance in just about every aspect of my life. I needed to be loved. Loved by anyone and in any way just as long as I wasn’t alone. My mother had died, and my father had chosen not to be a part of my life. Can you imagine for a second what it is like hearing adults as a young child who just lost her mother conversing back and forth on who would be able to take in two kids that are now motherless. It isn’t what I would describe as comforting, lets just say that. 

I grew up desperate for attention but was always too sad and ashamed to ask for it. It was a war I fought internally and alone. So I started to write. I wrote poems, I wrote stories, hell I wrote diary entries hoping an adult would go through it and find my cries for help. And when I didn’t get the response I thought I would, it sent me even deeper in the hole I dug for myself. It was a type of hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. 

If I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t until roughly two years ago that I truly saw how dependent I was on the approval and acceptance of others. I wanted to be loved so badly by others, I totally forgot about loving myself and knowing that loving myself can be enough. And I’m still a work in progress but it’s IN PROGRESS. 

I’ve come a long way. 

So when I saw that post it just made me think about how far I’ve come, and the roads I’ve traveled. Made me realize that I used to write to be right, and now I write because it’s simply what I love to do. I write for no one other than me. It’s how I express myself. It’s how I survive. To be able to write down and free the words and thoughts that have held me back for so long is a feeling I may never be able to describe but it is MY feeling. 

I guess what I am trying to say simply put is that I used to force myself to color inside the lines because I thought it’s what everyone would like. I thought a perfect picture is what would make me worthy. And now? Well now, my focus isn’t staying inside the lines. I draw what I want and how I want. Some people love my artwork, and others don’t. And while it’s okay for people not to like my art, just keep in mind, I no longer draw for anyone but myself. 

Isn’t it crazy what feelings can surface from things we see on social media?

death.

Death came knocking at my door again

No, not for me

But still it came, uninvited and unwanted

Unexpected

As it had come so many times before, I knew it’s knock

A knock you never expect until it is already pounding at your doorstep

Catapulting you into a reality that no matter how many times you’ve been before, still it takes your breath away

We are on a first name basis

No formalities

Candice, you know the drill

There I stand in NOT sadness, but pure hatred

You sick son of a bitch

When will it be my turn

Why do you insist I be in your audience only to witness your disgusting performance

The screams I am begging to stay buried leave no room for grief

I am angry

I am livid

Is this your idea of grief

Is this a part of your sick and twisted humor

All emotions but the one I need

Angry because I’m guilty

Guilt that my anger leaves no room to grieve

Lonely because I refuse to be consoled

And in this toxic circle there I sit

Bargaining with death

But he’s already gone

Just as quick as he came, he left even quicker

Leaving me with nothing but our memories and the future plans we made

He didn’t come for me but I feel him all the same

complete

And when my fire fades you are there to replenish
A never ending flame
A repeating cycle of love fueled with passion
The things you hate about yourself I love
The spaces my soul leave empty you fill
For what we were doesn’t compare to what we are
And there is nothing that can compete to what we will become
Your words heal scars that before you bled endlessly
My words bring new definitions to pain you thought you understood
Forever learning that loves teacher lived in us all along
However lessons were never learned until we met

p•m•s

How’d you sleep last night? •I didn’t.

Are you having any thoughts of harming yourself? •Do I strike you as an individual who would harm herself?

Do I look like I need help?

Tell me how should I dress my anxiety.

And does PTSD come in plus sizes?

Do I look like I’ve been up all night fighting a war that I never signed up to fight in?

Is my depression showing again?

It likes to hog the spotlight.

Every corner I bury myself in, no matter how deep, my depression digs it’s way out.

My best friends are the worst, though it is them who I turn to, to ensure I am alone.

My anxiety knows no one will ever love me like she does, therefore she tightens her grip when I try to speak.

There is no place that I can hide where they can not find me

And how do I fix my lips to tell them to leave me alone

How do i abandon the only two friends who have stuck by me no matter how hard I’ve tried to push them away

My depression is the sentence that I was born to serve and every time I think about trying to break free, my anxiety reminds me that no one will love me like she does

Where else will I find love that unbinds me in ways I could never explain

She keeps her hand near my mouth, in hopes I don’t say the wrong thing and when she screws up

My depression is there for damage control making sure I am hidden while I can swim in my own defeat, leaving me to drown in my own puddle of mistakes

Pardon my symptoms, they tend to speak out of turn but to answer your question…

No I don’t feel like killing myself today.

silenced

I can think of everything i want to say to you

But come the time and i can not write it

Words unheard, thrown to the curb

Seems my soul has been silenced

Look in my eyes and you’ll see the signs

Promise they will guide you right in

Listen for the skipped beats of my heart

And no doubt you’ll find what I’ve been hiding

In a field full of red roses

I am black and wilted

I’ve been here a while so I hang low but still I try to get your attention

Pick me, I want to scream

But my pride won’t step aside

If you could just look past my missing petals

I swear I’m beautiful deep down inside

No hidden thorns

No buried secrets

Just longing to be grabbed by my roots

Hundreds of hands have touched them

But none of them were you

What do I do

Words have failed me

And words were all that I had left

A silenced soul nourishes nothing

But a love on its last breath

And in those final moments

Still I’ll say all is well

A love lost in words unspoken

Another story I’ll never tell

magic.

what magic you possess in the morning

the earth is still and still your heart beats

these are the moments i live for

a beauty unmatched

unknown even to the beholder

as the world burns around us

serenity lives in your eyes

you are my safe space

the calm before my storm

our imperfections perfected who we are

unapologetic about being unacceptable

what magic you possess in the morning

do you know the power within your smile

shame no longer lives in what was

instead courage pushes me to what will be

you are the memory ill never forget

you are the random thought during the conversation i wasn’t listening to

the daydream i replay at night

marking the exact moment i fell for you

just moments before you caught me

what magic you possess in the morning

to see me in a different light than i see myself

in all the places i feel dim

you whisper to me that ive never been brighter

you caress the scars that could’ve ended me simply because they didn’t

my scars feel so different under your fingers

my stories have an audience

your sweet embrace was the standing ovation i never knew i needed

your kiss whispered encore

and since then life has never been the same

what magic you possess in the morning…