Surrounded by people who used to say
That rhyme about sticks and stones
As if broken bones
Hurt more than the names we got called
And we got called them all
So we grew up believing no one
Would ever fall in love with us
That we'd be lonely forever
That we'd never meet someone
To make us feel like the sun
Was something they built for us
In their tool shed
So broken heart strings bled the blues
As we tried to empty ourselves
So we would feel nothing
Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
It's dark outside. Shadows permeate through everything, like the dark purple blue of a bruise, like clouds full of rain and sorrow that drench dreams until they're a tattered memory of what they were. It's dark like depression at its worst when it tears at you and makes living such a chore.
It's dark like my heart.
Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
in the moments before it's about to fall
It's dark like my life, or what's left of my life. This shell that I continue to live in day by day that lost meaning farther back than my memory can trace.
This "life" full of papers, work, meetings, fake politeness, and echoing words of who are you? It all drives me slowly but surely back into my cave where I strive to avoid all those around me if only so I never have to hear those words again, who are you?
Oh yeah that white space above America!
NO! I long to scream as I force a smile and make no sound while the politeness wins again, I AM CANADA! AMERICA HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME!
do they make a sound?
are they just the background noise
of a soundtrack stuck on repeat
I want to rip my hair out, stomp my foot, and beg for someone to remember me, but they never will no matter what I do.
I had tried to be France's bon garcon; habits developed then never really went away.
I stayed strong for England when Alfred left. I made him tea and held him when he cried.
I fought during the world wars, more effectively than America but in the end he was declared the hero.
Germany cowed in fear because of me but when it was over I was the welcome mat all over again.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm being selfish. After all, I'm not always forgotten. America can be a good brother, we watch sports together and we argue if football is better than hockey or the other way 'round.
Once in a while England and I have nice conversations and he tells me he's glad there's at least one other gentlemen out there.
Every now and again France and I take walks and he flirts and tells jokes that make me blush, giggle, and believe I'm the only one in his life.
Prussia and I go drinking occasionally.
Cuba and I watch old movie re-runs and eat ice cream.
Russia challenges me at hockey when he has some spare time.
I should be glad for this shouldn't I? These things should make me happy but they don't. It just makes the pain more potent when I'm invisible again.
Am I being selfish? I can never tell and there's no one tell it to me straight.
Would it hurt, I wonder, if I tore out my heart? Would I cease to feel this pain if I took its bleeding form and stomped it into the floor? Could I keep this awful feeling from coming back?
juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
How much more harm could it really cause? Already scars litter my arms from adolescence days before I realized the blood did nothing.
but at night
while the others slept
we kept walking the tightrope
it was practice
and yeah
some of us fell
Anti-depressants never help.
Suicide is not an option. I've contemplated it, oh yes, but I am Canada. Though they have forgotten I am still the one that helped bring the Axis to their knees and I am too strong to fall that far. I will not stoop that low to garner attention.
Never.
America can hurt me all he wants.
Cuba can beat me while calling me a fat capitalist.
England can yell at me for childish pranks that I was never behind.
Russia can sit on me all he wants.
France can forget completely the years he raised me.
My own pet can forget my name and beg only for food but I will not break and fall down into a mess of tears and sorrow because I am more than that.
I'm not boring, I am not weak, I am not a pushover, and most importantly I AM NOT FORGETTABLE!
you have to believe that they were wrong!
we stem from a root planted in the belief
that we are not what we were called
we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway
They may never see me but I will never give up.
and if in some way we are
don't worry
we only got out to walk and get gas
I have very little to hold on to but somehow, it's worth more than too many pills or the sharp edge of a razor blade. I have a life and despite the pain it's worth it. I just have remember that when the pain is most too much to bear.
It hurts, but life is supposed to hurt because it reminds us that we are alive. It reminds me I'm alive and when I see the sun rise in its bright beauty I feel that much more grateful. The seasons continue to change and I am blessed to witness it. The darkness makes the light seem that much brighter.
My name is Matthew Williams the human personification of Canada not the scars on my arms or the wounds on my heart, not a ghost of a person that blends in with the backdrop.
We are graduating members from the class of
Fuck off we made it
Not the faded echoes of voices crying out
Names will never hurt me
Of course
They did
But our lives will only ever always
Continue to be
A balancing act
That has less to do with pain
And more to do with beauty.
I will always be a survivor.
Hello again dear readers! I was feeling a little depressed and managed to pump this out. I also watch Shane Koyczan's "To This Day," which is the poem in italics and bold. I love this poem more than any other and it helps me feel better when I'm down. If you haven't watched it do so because it is beautiful. I may continue this story if I get a positive reaction to it, idk if there will be any pairings.