When Words Fail

He asks her if she loves him
and all she can do is nod.
He asks her why she chose him
and when she can’t answer,
she’s obviously no more than a fraud.

But–

What he doesn’t know is that
She loves him more than she can ever express
and she chose him for more reasons
that she can ever address.

She loves him with a love so deep
that the bottom of the ocean floor can’t even compete.
She loves him with a love so fierce
that the sharpest knife it never could pierce.

She chose him for the way
his smile lights up her entire day.
She chose him for the pain
he so easily takes away.

She would tell him,
if she had the words
that
Her love will never falter
or break what’s inside of him.
For she knows that he’s special
and he fills her to the brim.

She would tell him,
if she had the words
that
She will choose him over and over again
even when things seem to be grim.
If nothing else,
just because
the showing of her love has yet to begin.

Over The Mid-line

ATTENTION: This is indeed a situation I’ve found myself in, note how I described it as an autobiographical narrative; however, I am no longer dealing with thoughts or situations like this. Just enjoy the read!
———————–

Moriah Kiepke
Mrs. Blanchette
English II, P. 5
April 17, 2018
Autobiographical Narrative

Nobody tells you about the pain life will inflict upon you, or the heartbreak and self hate that may torment you all your waking hours. Nobody tells you about crippling depression or addiction to self harm. Nobody warns you that you’re probably going to be the person that will end up destroying you, and if you’re not, then it’ll be the person you love the most. And they certainly will never tell you that sometimes it’s both. The toughest part of it all, however, is finding the strength to save yourself in the midst of it all– when there is no strength left.

I find myself fighting for everything as I reach a speed of 45 miles an hour. My mind begins wandering, and as my speed increases, insults come just as quick. Why can’t I do anything right? I’m so freaking stupid. I’m at 55 miles an hour five seconds later. Why can’t I be good enough? I don’t belong here. Now I’m going 70 miles an hour in a 65… Would anyone miss me if I was gone? Three more seconds later and I’m at 85 miles an hour with the pedal to the floor… if I just close my eyes.

If I close my eyes and let the car drift in whichever direction it chooses, and I just relax and give into my exhausted body it won’t be suicide. It’ll just be another unfortunate accident. So, I let my droopy eyes close and let my numbness overtake me. I can’t wait until the crash– the moment I finally feel something. Maybe if I don’t die first, the pain will finally wake me up from this exhausting slumber I’m drifing in and out of. Maybe the physical pain will override all this mental pain that just won’t seem to heal. This is my only chance at getting better– this is the only help I need.

I let out a sigh and open my eyes. I didn’t even let enough time pass for me to cross over the mid-line. My helplessness returns, and my calmness fades while my anxiety reboots my heart. I look down at my speedometer and read 102. That’s fast enough to lose control with just a simple jerk to the right, or even better, to the left while a semi is only a few yards ahead. However, I can’t just make myself endanger someone else, so instead I take out my phone and begin texting a friend.

“Hey, thanks for letting me come over.” I type, taking my time and not looking up towards the road until I double check and then triple check my spelling and grammar. You know, just to be sure I don’t make myself sound stupid and illiterate. Once the text is sent, I gently lay my phone on the seat beside me, taking my time to make sure that the ringer is on and that I can easily reach over to pick it back up once I get a text back. I’m oddly disappointed when I look up to find a dead road. I’m alone here, just like everywhere else, and apparently driving dangerously is not my thing– I somehow managed to stay in my lane.

I feel dread rush through every part of my being as I realize I’m almost home now. A black, thick curtain falls on top of me and the suffocation begins. A song comes on the radio that brings back memories of my former boyfriend and now on top of everything else, tears start leaking down my cheeks. I slam my hands down on my steering wheel and sob, wanting nothing more than an end to this aching in my bones. My heart races and my breaths become short and sporatic making me light headed. I want to die.

God, please let me die.

Let me die.

Please, just let me die.

I hear my phone ding as a text comes in, and this time, I make sure to drive myself into the middle of the road, pedal to the floor, gaining speed at 110 miles an hour before I pick up my phone. There’s no way I’m messing this up again.

“Of course! You’re welcome anytime!” The text reads. And then another one comes in right after:

“Put your phone down while you’re driving. :)”

I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this. I start to steer with my elbows, still in the middle of the road, as I text back.

“Texting and driving at 120 miles an hour isn’t dangerous is it? Haha.”

Part of me hopes that this friend of mine will call me– will call me and calm me down. Another part of me worries that they’ll take things to another level and call my parents instead. The thought of my parents hearing about this makes me heart stop dead in it’s tracks. I don’t need their nagging and worry on top of everything else.

“Slow down!” The next text reads.

“I think I’m good actually.” I send back. “Don’t worry though. I’ll be fine.”

In anger I throw my phone on the floor. Angry at myself. Angry at the fact that that’s all my friend has to say. Angry that they didn’t even realize that this was me telling them that I’m struggling. Angry at the whole world for damning me.

But mostly. I’m just tired.

I slowly get back into my lane and decrease my speed. I set my cruise at 65 miles an hour until I turn on my street.

I pull into my driveway.

I’m numb.

I turn off the engine.

I’m tired.

I walk into the house.

I want to die.

My parents say hi.

I smile as wide as I can and I make sure to make everyone laugh.

I’m okay.

You and Me

Love,
my love,
I give you my heart,
completely free of charge.

Now
Open it up
and dissect its parts
to see how deep
my love flows.

I’m sure inside
you’ll find many things.
There will be ugly parts
with deep rooted scars
and things you wish you wouldn’t have seen.
But woven between
you’ll find a river of love
that is only meant for you and me.

I hope when you see
the tears around the seams
that you will sew them all back up.
If what you see, however, is too much
and I’m just plain out of good luck,
promise me you’ll safely hand me back the key.

But promise me,
if you keep the key,
that you’re love won’t come with a fee.
That you’ll keep my heart
where you can easily see
when it starts to fall apart.

And if it does,
if it falls apart,
please,
don’t hesitate,
don’t freeze.
Just pull it close,
and keep it warm,
until it takes back it’s original form.

Love,
My love,
If by chance
you find your love
flows as deep as mine,
just hand me the key,
it’ll be fine–
I’d love to take a peek.

I promise to hold your heart safely
as for refuge in me you seek.

I will never let go,
for your heart is pure gold
and too precious to give up.

Sweetheart,
I hope
I never have to let go
of this thing between you and me.

Love,
my love,
there’s no greater love
than the one between you and me.

Apple of Your Father’s Eye

Dear future daughter,

Hear me when I say

You are the center of my world

And the apple of your father’s eye.

My dear precious little girl,

Listen as I tell you

Not to settle for less than you deserve

And not to set a limit to the height of your sky.

Dearest,

I want you to know that my love for you

Will only ever grow.

And that when you’re sad

I’ll be sad too,

But don’t be afraid to let your feelings show.

My love,

Someday your love

Will no longer be only mine to carefully keep.

However, when part of you gets broken

By the guy you thought for you’d never weep,

I’ll be here to mop up the mess

Or just hold you again

Tightly against my breast.

My child,

Always

Hold your head up high

But not so high that your nose is upturned.

Always

Walk with pride,

But speak humbly.

Always

Be brave,

But watch where you place your next step.

Always

Be confident,

But know your place.

Most importantly though–

Always

Shine in our heavenly Father’s grace.

Sweetheart,

Trust me when I tell you

That there is no greater love

Than the love that comes from above.

Trust me when I tell you

That He loves you more

Than even I can

Or any other human man.

Trust me when I tell you

That He made you in His pure hands

Without any doubt that you’ll grow

And change the layout of these cruel lands.

Baby girl,

You are magnificent

And strong

And intelligent

And more loved than you’ll ever know.

Each day,

As I watch you grow,

And hear your laugh for the first time;

As you take your first steps,

And wiggle your toes;

As my name becomes mommy,

And that’s the only name our house knows;

As you ask new questions,

And learn your ABC’s

My heart swoons with a love that will never decrease.

Dear future daughter,

Whenever the time comes that we meet,

Just know that this world was made for you and your own two feet

And there’s no where you can’t go

With the powerful love that will never deplete.

Victim or Victor?

“The tragedy is people see you as a victim
and they keep seeing you as a victim
because you talk about the things that hurt you.
Because you talk about your trauma
Because you discuss the thing that tore you apart.

They do not understand that talking about it
Being brave enough to face it
understanding it
and allowing others
to see all of your vulnerablility
is courage at its rawest.

You are a survivor
because you are not silent
Do not allow others to define your survival
Because they lack the patience
The understanding
The courage to hear it.”
— NIKITA GILL (Wild Embers: poems of rebellion fire and beauty)

I wanted to share that with all of you because it’s something I’ve wanted to say for the longest time but have never been able to express the way I needed to.

SO–

My writing does not victimize me; I have no desire to receive anyone’s pity. No, my writing is the way I let go of things; my writing is what makes me who I am and helps me build myself into the person I want to be. In my writing I am able to encourage myself and make life sound so much more pleasing than it usually is, or, on the other hand, describe the struggles people commonly deal with but are reluctant to talk about. There’s nothing more frustrating than when I write something I have felt or am feeling and I post it, and someone comments saying that everything “gets better” or that “it will be okay.” I already know that; I have already survived that and am on the other side– that’s something I figured out a long time ago. I’m just turning all my struggles into something beautiful and helpful (I hope). What I want to hear is how relatable my characters situation is, or how the words reach out and grab you and wouldn’t let you go until you finished. I want honest opinions, I want compliments and critisism. I don’t want pity.

More importantly, my writing is meant for me, not anyone else– until I’m finished writing it. While I’m writing I am growing, and once I’m finished growing, that’s when I’m beyond excited to share it so that others can grow with me.

One of the worst things I’ve had to deal with associated with my writing is being called into the school’s counselors office to talk (in order to make sure that I wasn’t planning to harm myself), and then having my mom called to take me to the hospital to be watched over– I never went because I didn’t need to; I was completely safe and out of harms way. The only thing the counselor and principal managed to do for me was piss me off and send me to a different school. The thing that they didn’t understand– as a lot of you don’t– is that I’m not worried about anything I write about, and you shouldn’t be either. No matter what my stories consist of, there’s never going to be a time again when there’s going to be any reason to worry about my well-being; there was never a time when my stories were ever more than stories. I write what I’m passionate about and I hope that my stories scare you in a way that makes them seem real, but not in a way that makes you think they’re real for me.

You should also know: I don’t want any help with anything I’m struggling with because I love being the one that fixes me. It makes me feel like a badass. 🙂 The only thing I’m worried about is how my readers are reacting and relating to my blogs and poems. However, I rarely get an feedback on how my writing actually is. So if something touches you, or you REALLY like something I write, I would love to hear from you. I need encouragement in that aspect of my life because without it there’s a huge chance that I’ll quit before I get anywhere. I want to write books and have “New York Time’s Bestseller” typed on the cover. However, I don’t want to be scared to write what’s on my mind just because someone else might freak out and try to hospitalize me when there’s nothing wrong– that’ll only hold me back. I want to write about the realities of life that some of you won’t ever understand, but I don’t want to have to be self-conscious about it. Please understand.

The Years

As the leaves fall

And the warmth fades

And you’re struggling to stand tall–

I will be here.

I will be here

Even when you tell me to go.

Even when I’m tired

Of the same ol’ things we know.

Through the fights

And the inevitable tears.

Through the changing of brand new leaves

And the rest of our years.

And I know you’ll be here too.

Through all the drama that will ensue

And the eye-rolling

that you’ll witness a time or two…

Because I’m yours

And you’re mine.

That alone makes

My entire world brightly shine.

If a time ever comes when the leaves

Don’t grow back

And I’ve lost you to the the rain,

Or rather love,

That we lack.

If a time ever comes when the weather

Wears us down,

Like the pounding of rain

eroding a rock,

And you slip away from me

As on heaven’s doors you knock–

I will be here.

Conquered

“Liar.”
“You’re none of the things you stand for.”
“You’re not nice.”
“You’re not compassionate.”
“Liar.”

“You don’t know what kindness is.”
“You don’t know how to be a friend.”
“You do not forgive, forgive, forgive.”
“You are not who you say you are.”
“Liar.”

And the one that somehow stung the worst–

“There’s no reason to take this personally–
I’m just telling you what I think.
You’re not as good as you say you are.”

and

“I can’t stick around to watch you hurt him again.
You used him.
I stayed and watched you use him.
You’re a fucking liar.
Why can’t you just
not be a whore.
I honestly don’t blame him.
I don’t blame him for not wanting you.”

“Liar…”

I have one thing to say to you-
Screw you.
Screw you and your doubt inducing,
un-instigated,
self-righteous
put-downs.

I latched onto your words.
I latched onto the liar
you told me I was.

I detached myself from
the person I wanted to be
to believe in something
I never even was.

I believed in the whore
you religiously wished me to be.

I was determined to hate myself
the way you hated everything
you knew I wasn’t–
But prayed cruely
that I would believe I was
so you could
rise higher than me
and watch me sink below.

But my dear–

I have grown into something that
you can only pray to someday see.

I have risen to the top of the mountain
you were trying to climb.
I fought and fought
to reach this point.
You fought and fought
not to rise,
but to grab my ankles and drag me down.

As I rest for a moment–
Waiting to catch this breath
that I’ve lost looking out
over the beauty of everything
I conquered–

As I rest for a moment–
waiting to begin the next climb–

I can only hope
that you make it this far–
To see how beautiful it can be
to let go of the things holding you down.

To rise steadily on your own,
without trying to climb over someone else.

I hope you rise
and become the person
I know you can be.

Rise
and feel
the release of a million weights
of unforgiveness
shed
like leaves in the fall.

Update: Campaign

UPDATE:

As many of you know, Needs4 LIFE was supposed to start the 12th of January. However, the only people who showed up were the leaders– which was fine since we had a chance to talk about what we needed to do in order to get the attention we want and need to get this thing going. It’s already been over two months since then, and I’m starting to feel like this just isn’t meant for me anymore. I’m still trying to keep going anyway– the things meant for us are sometimes the hardest things to find, or in this case, achieve. I just need to know how much interest there is in Pierre; if there’s not any then I can’t help anyone. I can’t start something when nobody besides me is interested. I need help– I want your help. Let me know if your interested by voting on the poll and commenting your interest on our group’s facebook page: Needs4 LIFE. Thanks! Now read on to get more of a feel for what this is about!

Our original idea for Needs4 LIFE was to have a hang out group where teens could come and talk and have fun without the stress of school or life on their shoulders. We wanted to create an atmosphere that was healthy and encouraging for today’s teens. Then along the way we developed a new idea to have more of a counseling group where we would talk about our feelings and watch YouTube videos and learn how to deal with our illnesses– that was never what I had in mind. (If that’s something you’d be interested in, there is already a NAMI group in Pierre associated with one of the churches. Just email me and I’ll get you more info!)

I’m looking more to start a campaign than a group. I don’t want to sit around in a circle and discuss my feelings. I want to give the opportunity to myself and my peers to be creative and to show off their God-given talents in a way that inspires and informs our community and surrounding communities. I want to be that encouraging person, and to help others become that person, that is able to inspire others to do what they love to do. I know I’m not the only one. I see on social media all the time people who are ranting about something they want to change or are passionate about– Let’s get together and spread that passion!

There are so many talented teens in this area. There are beautiful photographers, amazing artists of every kind, and gymnasts, and people so kind that my heart just swells. I want to share that with the world. But I can’t do it alone, because I am not all those things. I am not even a fraction of those things. And even if I was– I wouldn’t want it to just be me. I want to be a part of something bigger than myself. I want to spread awareness of things happening in teens lives and minds today. I want to spread hope for my generation. There’s so much negativity… I don’t know about you, but I need less of that and more of the happy stuff.

So here’s the deal–

If you are passionate about something, message me. It can literally be anything. It can be something you’re good at: singing, instrumentals, gymnastics, photography, filming, writing, acting; or something that deeply affects you: depression, anxiety, teen-life, bullying, inspiring others, motivation, ANYTHING. Or any combination there- of. Don’t ignore this. THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

Extremists

What makes a person extreme?
Racing a train with yards of track ahead of you?
Running towards a car moving 50 miles an hour towards you?
Jumping the gun and asking that girl to marry you?

Maybe it’s all of them
But only one of us can be the most extreme–
I have to say
It must be me.

It must be me
Because I do all of those things.
I race the train and I win.
I run towards the speeding car and flip over it with ease.
I don’t care what anyone thinks– I ask my man to marry me.

Don’t believe me?
Well I’m a writer.
I do those things daily.
I am extreme.

I have come face to face with the devil himself–
and I escaped him and his rancid breath.
I died one thousand times
and still stand before you today.

Only the most extreme could compete with that.

I am a writer.
I walk on water
and fight the world’s best heavy weight boxer.
I wake up to the love of my life dead beside me.
I sing in front of a crowd for the first time and wow them all.
I am a writer.

I have many talents.
I travel without moving out of my seat.
I create worlds that only exist in the most extreme peoples minds.
I am extreme.

I am a writer.

Breathing

Breathing.
What even is the reason? Why should you have to take another breath when each and every one hurts? When living seems to only be a curse? When life seems to be too much to bear anymore, and nothing interests you, not even the things you used to adore? When the world seems to have turned its back on you, and none of your confidants have come through?

Breathing.
Because you still have many breaths inside of you, and the world needs your smile to breakthrough… to melt the hearts that have turned cold, and to free the minds that are being controlled. You are stronger and braver than you think. You’ve been on the brink of something scarier than any shallow mind will ever be able to perceive. So look up and just let yourself breathe.

Breathing.
Because there isn’t a time to give up. Life may be hard and maybe you don’t see anything in the future, but back up… Don’t worry about what comes next; worry about what happens in this context, right now. If your lungs burn with every breath and your legs threaten to give out, then fall to your knees and take a bow. Remember that God makes everything beautiful in time, and that he would never go against you in any sort of crime. To him you are beautiful, and wonderful, and smart, and perfectly made, and each breath you take puts a smile on his face. When your heart aches, his does too, but he can only take your pain if you allow him to. He’s done it once, he will do it again. Just talk to him in Jesus name amen.

Now close your eyes, breath in, breathe out. Feel the weight on your shoulders lighten and the darkness in your heart bailout. Now can you see…that you’re loved beyond measure and without a doubt?

Breathing.
Don’t stop doing it now.