When Would My Life Begin.

 I feel like shit now. Everyone says this, but only a few actually know the feeling. I am a female. Hurt. Afraid. Deprived. And more. That’s me. I have become too unattractive for life to actually give me good things. I want to cry, to scream, to rip my hair. I am crazy inside. Jumping up and down. Eyes flaming. Angry at everyone, at everything. But then there’s no fire, no passion, no strength to loose my mind. Everyone wants something. I want everything. So much need leaves me worse than mad. Sometimes I think I’ll die a virgin, without knowing love, desire, fulfillment. Lust. I want pure lust. I want young men to fall when I walk past. I want them to crawl to beg for what nature has endowed with me with. I want the man of my dreams to hold me and teach me love, to touch me in the places hidden under my clothes. I want to moan out loud, I want to cry out, I want to feel my first orgasm happen. I want to love and be loved in every which way. I remember the poem, in secondary school, “To his Coy Mistress” now the poem speaks to me”..and my beauty shall turn to dust and into ashes all my lust”. I speak these words to my self each day. I still know innocence and then again I don’t. If I die this way, I will be an angry spirit in hell. I do not want to be a joke there for a little sin, perhaps a little lie here or a little rebellion there. Even the devil will laugh and say I am a fool. I want to live life. To know pleasures beyond the element of feeling. I am alone. More alone than ever with no one to hold my hand. This is not life. Everyday, I sit and wonder when my life would begin, when I would actually begin to live, to love, to laugh.

I own a messed up head. A badly damaged one by the monsters playing a game of catch in my head, but  instead of a ball, its my brain. There are so many voices. The dominant ones, these demons, that plague my mind with all forms  of disastrous fears. They are the ones you see in my worried eyes, sleepless nights and panic attacks. They are the reason for my frail heart, the reason I cannot live. I see bad things happen to me, its like my personal horror movie and I'm its only audience. Sometimes I prefer death to this. When this is watching your whole life fall apart and your loved ones die. Yes death is better than being forced to watch all this happen. Death is better than living in constant uncertainty. The other voices are the beautiful ones, the fairytales and fantasies. The world I created for myself. The one I run away to when the going is rough. The one where I’d rather stay. They call me the drifter whose lost touch with reality. I am Alice and here’s my wonderland. However the reality is the darkness, the hurting, where everything I see turns into blood. I am a prisoner. Bound. With my free will taken from me. I want to be free. I want to be fixed. I'm looking for my prince to come and fix his Barbie doll princess as she had her heart broken one too many times. Now she’s stuck in a world of unbelief where there’s no hope and no happy endings. Her imprisoned soul yearns for Him who would come to give her that magic kiss to break the dark spell. And then she would begin to live, love and laugh.