Every Night You Visit Me

Every night you visit me.

The room goes dark, but I still see your face.

I see you over me, smell the whiskey on your breath.

I feel your hands on the back of my head.

Every night you visit me.

When my eyes are closed, I feel you there.

I feel you when I’m in his bedroom, the ghost between us.

Trapped in the memory of where I saw you last.

Every night you visit me,

Every time I dare think about someone besides you.

You invaded my dignity, and you invade my most private thoughts.

You destroy the idea of a life without you.

Every night you visit me.

And that’s just how you wanted it to be.

You said you’d be in my life forever when I told you no,

And you made sure you got your way.

Because every night you visit me.

You destroyed every part of my life.

I blame you for that night, I blame you for my pain,
But it’s my fault I can’t keep you out at night.

~E J Royson

Someone is always listening.

Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1 800 656-4673

Suicide Prevention Lifeline
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1 800 273-8255

[Untitled]

Dear Brother,

               I want to preface this by saying I do not know how you feel. Maybe I did at one point, during times where we have shared a common path through life, but I don’t anymore. We haven’t spoken in years, much to my dismay. I’ve come to think perhaps it is because I thought I knew how you felt. How could you feel any different from me when we went through the same trauma? And it never quite sunk in why, no matter how I tried, my attempts to reach out to you never worked.

               Through my own unfortunate experiences with trauma after that of our childhood, I’ve learned our childhood traumas were not the same. We both saw two very separate, very ugly sides of life. Even our experiences had been the same, we were not going to process our grief the same. So I’m sorry for being so closed minded as to think I knew how you felt, knew what you needed, or thinking that forcing myself back into your life was any type of solution.

               Please, do what you need to do to heal. I do not say this to suggest you are in any way broken, but only that it is completely normal for life to tear little holes in our soul. But by not repairing all the stupid little holes we think we can live with, we make it easier for more painful tears to occur. And those are harder to mend. I know this, because I have let this happen to me. By refusing to repair all the stupid little things, I’ve had much greater pains over situations I could have handled far differently had I dealt with the smaller pains in my life first. Some people turn to professional guidance to heal their souls, some people heal through mindfulness, and some heal through peer support. There are so many ways to heal, and I only ask you to do what is best for you in order to live a fulfilling life.

               I say this to you hoping you build the skills to cope with whatever life throws at you, because if you were led to believe it gets easier once you hit adulthood, they lied to you. You’re going to find your path in life, and unfortunately, I can promise you there are going to be hills on your journey. Sometimes you’re going to be fighting to get to the top of a hill, and then it’s going to be a breeze going back down. And sometimes you’re going to get to the top, and there’s not going to be a downhill, and you’re going to have to dig deep to keep going. There will be times where you’re going to be forced to learn what you’re made of in order to keep going. There is no easy way out. You’re going to have to keep going. And it’s going to suck.

               I want you to know that if you feel you’re running out of power to keep going, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. That’s what family is for. I wasn’t always a good sister to you when we were younger and there’s no amount of apologizing I can do to make up for that. There are many times I wish I could go back and change what I’ve done. I would have been a better role model. I would have shown you how to be a responsible young adult. I would have been there for you when you needed me, so that maybe now you would allow me in your life to help you through some of the incredible challenges you are going to face in the next few years: college, finding a job, dealing with heartbreak, moving and starting over somewhere new, and so much more. I want you to know that I will never close the door to you on anything. Like it or not, you are my brother, and if ever you need one of your sisters, I will always be there for you. It doesn’t matter if we haven’t spoken in years—if you find yourself struggling, I will be there, the past in the past, and the future whatever you want it to be. Please don’t ever take one step in life thinking you are alone. Don’t ever think it’s too late. I’ll be there when you need me.

Little Moments

We brushed arms today.

It was nothing, something people overlook every day.

But I’m still thinking about it.

Not because we didn’t apologize

But because we both looked at each other

And we remembered.

I was on the phone in the back office,

Hiding from distractions,

Trying to focus.

You snuck up behind me,

And placed office supplies on my head.

The distraction who finds me wherever I am.

The rain didn’t keep you indoors.

Your eyes made sure I found my car safely from across the lot.

I wanted to wave goodbye, or smile,

But my legs carried me away,

Arms locked to my side, lips frozen in place

Just like yours.

When I came back,

You told me you liked my hair this way,

But you didn’t want to see me.

You told me you missed talking to me,

But I had to delete your number.
She still comes first.

~E J Royson

Sticks and Stones Can Break My Bones, But You Can't Make Me Your Victim

My father was talking with me the other night about how to deal with an upcoming meeting, likely to turn to confrontation, with my mother. We were talking about how she is likely to goad me into picking a fight, and to find a way to engage with me physically. He explained she has always played the victim in her life, how apparently her parents never loved her the same as her other siblings, how she never got what she wanted, how she was an outcast at school, and how both men she married were abusive alcoholics and that's why things didn't worked out, when most people who know her ex-husbands know they are far from either abusive or alcoholic. And I couldn't help but think, how do these apparent things make her a victim? What true horrors has she faced that she could even partly justify being a victim?

Everyone is comprised of both their parents, for better or for worse. My dad told me, "Don't be a victim, Red," and I started to think about all the things I could claim I was a victim of. But I'm not a victim. I am not crippled by the horrors of my past. My mom left me on the front step in freezing rain on New Year's Eve, my mom called the police on me because I was trying to leave her to get home from an abusive visitation session, my mom tried to get me kicked out of school on enough occasions that she was banned from calling the school--but I am not a victim of her. She has not broken me. I will not let her break me. And even besides my mother, I will not be a victim to anyone else. "Don't be a victim, Red," he said. And I thought, No, I'll be a victor.

*     *     *

I am not the victim of bad parenting,
     I am a survivor of bad parenting.
I did not have my spirit broken.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of spread rumors,
     I am a survivor of caddy nonsense.
I did not lose who I am inside.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of betrayal,
     I am a survivor of the back-stab.
I did not lose the ability to trust others.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of child abuse,
     I am a survivor of child abuse.
I did not let her hurt my soul.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of sexual assault,
     I am a survivor of sexual assault.
I did not let him take my pride.
     I am a victor.

They cannot make me the victim.
     I will be a survivor.
I am not a victim,
     I am a victor.

~E J Royson

Even With Both Hands Moving

Tick.
Keep your mind busy.
Tick.
Keep your hands moving.
Tick.
Take some pills and fall asleep.
Tick.
It's 3am and the pills have worn off.
Tick.
The ceiling is a white canvas for your imagination.
Tick.
You put on headphones and listen to music to block it all out.

Tick.
But the lyrics.
Tick.
The next song too.
Tick.
How about television?
Tick.
Reruns, boredom takes over.
Tick.
Your mind needs something to do.
Tick.
More pills, more music, more television, more sleep.

Tick.
The phone lights up.
Tick.
Do you look at it?
Tick.
You're desperate.
Tick.
Just a spam email.
Tick.
You lay back down.
Tick.
      Tock.
             Tick.
                   Tock.
                          Tick.
                                Tock.

You tell yourself only a few more days.
Just a few, you'll get through it.
Not knowing is killing you.
Knowing could be all that much worse.
How could it get worse?
It always gets worse.
More pills.
More music.
More television.
More sleep.

It's morning.
Rinse, Repeat.

~E J Royson

Today, I Conquered One of My Biggest Fears

Today, I conquered one of my biggest fears: spending a large amount of time in public, alone.

Now, I don't mean something like spending an hour in the grocery store, or doing ordinary tasks like that. I mean spending leisurely time, in a crowded, public place visibly alone, relaxing, and enjoying the company of one's self.

I think our society often undervalues the importance of being in our own company. I think society is so built on receiving approval from others, that we don't accept the approval of ourselves. Approving of myself is half the reason I struggle with depression in the first place. Growing up, it seemed I was never good enough, always the disappointment of the family. And even still, in comparison to my siblings, I only scraped by with my grades, struggle with my weight, spend my free time playing video games instead of building homes for habitat for humanity, or hiking through the mountains, will struggle to find a job after graduation, and never receive that gleam of approval in my parents' eyes. Anyone see what's wrong with what I just said?

I compared myself to the others in my life, and based my own happiness on the approval of my parents. While, of course, it is nice to have your parents approve of your choices, it shouldn't be the foundation on what you build your happiness upon. I know, that because of who I am and how I was raised, I will always have a chip on my shoulder and an "I'll show them" attitude, but part of what I am trying to base my recovery on is ensuring that what I do, I do because it makes me happy.

That's what my two day trip to Wildwood was about. I have spent so much of my life afraid of what others might think of me if I do something, or act in a certain way. It seems in our culture, anyone who spends their leisure time alone must either have an abrasive personality, or hate people. Sure, I'm introverted, but I've spent the better part of my working years in some form of customer service. I have my moments, but I'm not an asshole at heart. And valuing alone time doesn't mean I hate being around others, it means that I like to hear what my mind has to say every once in a while. So, to be one step closer to self approval, I went to the beach by myself. I sat in a chair by myself. I read my book by myself. I ignored the looks from the large group of friends next to me, when I revealed my curvy self in a bathing suit and laid on my towel in the sun, by myself. And you know what I decided while spending some quality time with myself?

That if I have to spend the better part of my life alone, I'll be okay. I like reading, I like laying on my back, using sand as a pillow, I like how warm sand feels between my toes, I like how when you are laying down, the white foam of the waves could be a tiny army of white horses racing to the sand, only to be shot down as they near the shore. There was a time when sitting on the beach was an inspiration to me, when all of my great ideas for novels would come to me. And today, for the first time in a long time, that came back to me.

I have spent such a long time keeping myself busy, surrounding myself with people I didn't particular like, just so that I wouldn't have to be alone with my thoughts, so that I wouldn't have to think about how sad the rest of my life will be, since I will inevitably be spending it alone. I invested so much of my time into other people, that I forgot what it was like to be invested in myself. I forgot what it was like to be inspired by my own imagination so much so that I can build an entire universe out of a few moments of my own experiences. I have spent so much time, afraid of my own mind, that I neglected the best parts of it.

I might not be as successful as my sister, nor as intelligent as my brother, but I doubt either of them can take a few seconds of their life and transform that brief experience into a fictional universe. I can't let what they excel at take away from my own achievements. And I can't hate myself just because I don't measure up the same way someone wants me to. Sure, my mom can go to her grave swearing I would have made more money as a physical therapist, but my life will be more fulfilled doing what makes me happy, writing, and maybe someday my writing will even help others in a different, but just as important way as physical therapy could have helped them.

So, my advice? Go somewhere by yourself. It can be a coffee shop. Take yourself on a date. Sure, it's a scary thought. Everyone is either going to give you weird looks or pity you. Let them. You are there to spend some time with your own mind. You might be surprised what it has to say to you.

~E J Royson

"I Don't Know"

I realized I haven't written for myself in a while, and I started to wonder why. The more I thought about it, the more I was able to conclude how it is because I don't have words for what I'm feeling. One could speculate that I am, in fact, feeling wordless.

Words are what give us meaning. A word is nothing but something that signifies something else. Can something have meaning if it doesn't have a word, or something to signify its existence? I find myself groping for words to try to understand how I'm feeling. I've been with words brimming on my tongue with no way to let them off. Perhaps I am feeling meaningless.

It's not depression--I know what that feels like. I spend years clawing my way from the bottom. From having to count the reasons every morning so that I would be reminded the worth of getting out of bed. And for a few months a while ago, I was very happy. Every morning I'd find myself feeling untouchable, that no matter how many people would try to tear me down, they'd never be able to even make a dent.

But now I'm in this odd state in the middle, where nothing seems to be happening. But at the same time, everything is happening. It's as if I'm so numb that my life is passing me by without a word from my mouth to try and stop it. I don't like that, because wasting time is wasting a non-renewable resource. 

Maybe my life is lacking meaning right now. Maybe it's the relationships I find myself in, as meaningless as they are fleeting. Maybe it's because I find no joy in my studies anymore. Maybe it's because my family is glass, long since shattered on the floor. Maybe it's because as quickly as I make friends, I lose them.

Nothing ever stays. It was not so long ago that I was so happy, and not so long ago that I was so sad. I'm floating somewhere in the middle, between knowing and not. Between insecurity and safety. Between love and hatred.

If nothing ever stays, I know I can take comfort in knowing that this, too, shall pass. It's just a matter of getting though, and hoping no one takes notice for long enough so that I may escape the ever pressing questions, most frequently, "Are you okay?"

Because there has never been a more dissatisfying answer as, "I don't know."

Future Cat Lady

With me,
it's either too many emotions,
or not enough.

"She's cold."
"She's funny."
"She's too hard to handle."
"Her heart is in the right place."
"She's such a bitch."

"You can't please everyone,"
they try to tell me.
But I can't seem to please anyone.

The jokes run out.
My patience runs out.
Words just spill out,
and no one ever understands.

I'll cling to who ever stays
because everyone always leaves.
And whether I hold too tight,
or keep them at arm's length,
they leave anyway.

I'm not sure what I could have done,
to make any of them stay.
Sure, it wasn't all my fault;
they weren't good for me,
But the good ones won't even step my way.

It's not like I don't try;
I try so hard to be perfect.
But no one seems to notice,
and if they do, they don't care.

But I've consented to my fate,
to an empty house, and empty bed,
Wrought iron fences, cobwebs, and hate.
And fifty cats living on my estate.

~ E J Royson

"Write about this!"

I think it is hilarious when people angrily tell me, "Go write about this, [enter insult here, most commonly "bitch"]!" A part of me is like, "I freaking will!", and another part of me is like, "You're not even worth the time." Either way, their attempt to throw my career in my face is almost always meant sarcastically. What is so funny about this is I don't think people realize just how much writers take from their own experiences. My friend and I, who both write fantasy, sit and make up stories about people while we sit in public. When I sit down and write, whether it is a conscious decision or not, people in my life work their way onto the pages.

Sometimes people ask me to write them into my writing with sincerity. When that happens, I tell them straight what I intend to do with their character. When people bitterly tell me to write in a story about how awful they have been, I do. But I don't tell them. Usually their tendencies come out in the antagonists of my stories. Not all antagonists are "villains," and sometimes the positives I see in the people who have mistreated me are reflected. But when I'm writing an antagonist, usually I play up their faults. I mean, what better way to depict a jobless-drunk who disrespects women than to use someone I actually know?

It really is just a fact of life, that if you are friends with a writer, you will end up in their stories. If you piss off a writer, you will end up the antagonist in their story, and the character will most likely suffer a horrible death. So tread carefully. And telling us, "Write about this!" usually just gives us a good chuckle. And then we do.

~E J Royson

Nothing Can Remain

Every time I put my pen to page, the ink scatters in blotted swirls that torment me by muddling what I need to tell myself. The thoughts are brimming at the edge of my fingertips, but get lost in translation. The irony of calling myself a writer, when the words just won't come.

The thoughts will come, and they flash before my eyes in hauntingly beautiful images and memories. They do not seem to care how they torment me either, by showing me everything I've lost and all that I have yet to lose. They aim to drive me mad.

There is so much I've yet to say, if only I could pull apart the entangled webs of my emotions once separate, but now mingling and mocking my need to move on. Maybe I've long since held what was already gone, and that's what makes this so much easier.

"Is this really good for you?" I've been asked, and while I ponder, I realize I had been ready to move on for a year, but having turned away from so many for so many times before, it would not be out of turn to say I was afraid of ending up alone. It would be right to say I still am.

There is nothing quite like facing the cold nights without the warmth of another, nothing quite like getting excited and having no one to talk to, and nothing quite like realizing you will once again have to explain the horrors of your past so the next one might hope to understand.

And yet, there is nothing like seeing the horizon lighting up with hues of sunlight, reminding you there is always another to come, nothing like seeing the horizon shrink away to deep shades of sorrowing darkness to remind you there is always another to go.

This constant war we wage trying to find the light that will stay--the warmth with us on cold nights, the voices comforting us through our life, the understanding without needing a word--is lost as we walk through a life where nothing, good or bad, can stay,

A world where nothing can remain.

~E J Royson

Refractions

One day I looked in the mirror and was surprised,
I realized the face looking back was not mine.
She was similar of course, in looks and grimace,
with the same lips, turned down in penance.
But she was not me, though she was all I had
after the others had all gone and fled.
They left me to my misery, alone and cold,
and let me unravel down to my shattered bones.
Something caused me to smile at this girl in the glass
and she seemed friendly enough, for she smiled back.
With a little wave, I realized she was the one
who would get me through having come undone.
The only one beside me, the only one who cared
for she was only happy when my happiness flared.
This girl in the mirror needed me just as much
as I needed to use her as my crutch.
I pinned up her hair and gave her lips color
I painted her eyelashes and made her eyes fuller.
She shook her head sadly, said "It's not what you see,
It's what's on the inside, who you choose to be.
They may notice your acts and your appearance,
but it's how you make them feel that makes all the difference."
I realized she was right, she was much smarter you see--
To make others happy, I had to start with me.
The world will smile with me, I explained to the girl.
She nodded in agreement and smiles with me still.

~E J Royson

Should've Jumped

She was hungry, but she could not eat.

She was tired, but she could not sleep.

She thought of just how easy it would be,

to step out in front of the car and into peace.

No more words inside her head.

No more voices bringing her dread.

Just the sight of on coming lights

and the bright blissfulness of night.

How fickle life turns out to be

One minute you're there, the next free.

If she had just jumped when she thought

Trying so hard wouldn't have been for naught

~E J Royson

Ashen Goodbyes

Could the clock turn back,

what would remain?

Could we change our mistakes

without going insane?

If I could reach back through,

the years would shatter

Turning to ash in my palms, 

the lonely dust to scatter.

Too many wrongdoings,

I could roll the dice

Too many impossible outcomes,

I can't afford the price.

I want to be okay with the past

But I've nowhere to start.

Sitting here, the ash scattered

trying to mend my broken heart.

I shouldn't have loved him.

I knew better than it.

But I can't change the past,

Only to the future can I commit.

I'd turn back the clock

and swiftly erase just this one

but how could that possibly

save me from coming undone?

~E J Royson

Twenty Years Alone

“I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.” -Robin Williams

Maybe I don't have depression-- maybe I just grew up surrounded by people who have made me feel alone. They hear, but don't listen to what I say; they don't think that I can be affected by what they say, or what they don't say; they don't bother to support my life choices to become a writer and have never read a word I've written; they leave me standing silent because my words have no value to their lives.

I've spend this entire summer fighting with my parents about what I need to be happy. They call me ungrateful. They tell me I'm a spoiled brat. And even my extended family has told me that I need to be more appreciative of all my parents do for me. I know I am fortunate to be in the financial situation they provide. I just didn't think asking my parents to show emotional affection, instead of just financial was too much to want.

By financial situation, I'll get one thing straight: I'm not rich. I can't buy friends, though damn have I tried. When my mom kicked me out of my house at fifteen years old and I had to change high schools and make new friends, I used to offer car rides home like it was nothing-- even if it was inconvenient. I wanted time with someone, even if they spent 15 minutes talking about themselves, because it was more than I had at home. Even at college, I lent people money knowing I'll probably never see it again. I give people rides when I've better things to be doing, or need to be saving money instead of spending it on gas. I picked someone up from another school 45 mins away just because he asked me to. I try to buy small things for my friends to show that I'm thinking about them. I wanted to be liked. And the more I think about it, the more I realize I picked up this "buying love" habit from my parents.

But as it turns you can't buy friends, and every friend to whom I've given money, or rides, or gifts in order to fight my loneliness, has left me. I have a few friends from when I was younger, but everyone else walked away. I can't even say I was used, because I bought their friendship. I guess I don't know how to make friends. So now, with my "friends" abandoning me, I thought this summer I could turn to my family and seek some solace there. But I was wrong.

I can't talk about anything at home-- my dad and step mom don't watch anything I do, movies, TV or otherwise. While I try to sit with them and watch what they are watching, they don't catch me up on what is happening in the show and get bothered when I ask. I'm not invited to do anything with my family except eat dinner every night. My dad and step mom have gone on more vacations than I can count while I was at college, but they can't find time for me when I'm home. They've had the book I've written downloaded on their computer for three years, and every time I ask if they've read it, the answer is still no. My step mom had surgery this summer-- while at home she could have read it.  My dad claims he is too busy, but watches TV every night for at least three hours. My siblings have wanted little to do with me for the past four and a half years. Even my mom, while our relationship is thin, has summers off because she is a teacher but not once has she asked to read anything I've written even when I remember how she spent every summer with a book in her lap.

My dad and step mom keep saying how I need to go to a therapist to work out my problems. As I see it, my problems are with them, not with a therapist. They threaten to have me go live with an aunt or cousin because they don't want to hear me say that I am unhappy. They don't want to deal with how they have left me alone. They don't want to have to modify how they behave in order to make me feel a little happier, a little less alone. And everyone says "But they're helping you with college, they pay for your phone, they pay for your car, you hardly have any rules to live by, how can you not be happy?" How can I not be happy? Because coins are cold, and dollars rip. I only have one life, and at this point in it, I can count on one hand the people I have in my life who don't make me feel alone when I'm with them. And I can tell you, my family is not on that hand.

My family, the people who I am supposed to rely on, have failed me emotionally. But yet I am ungrateful, I am spoiled, and how dare I say anything about the people who care for me financially. I don't care what you buy me and then throw back in my face because I'm feeling disappointed, upset, angry, and alone. You feel love, you don't buy it. I could pay for my own phone if they spent a little time with me. I could find a way to pay for my car if when I drove home to see them, I was driving to see them do something else than sit on the couch. I could even find a way to pay for my own college if they bothered to support my writing, because how am I supposed to believe in myself when my family thinks I am going to fail? Maybe I don't have depression-- maybe I've just been taught that I'm not a worthwhile investment, maybe the words I say have no meaning, and maybe I've just spent twenty years alone.

~E J Royson

"The Purge": Anything but Believable

So, I finally got around to watching The Purge. When trailers came out for the film, I knew straight away I would hate it. Of course, that means my view while watching it was biased, and I will fully admit to that. However, let's talk about facts.

The only really large problem I have with this movie is its portrayal of humanity. Honestly, it is as if the screenwriters knew nothing of being human when they sat down to write this. Or maybe, they are living in a very delusional world.

The premise of this movie is based on humanity being able to suppress the urge to commit crime except for twelve hours a year.What is so beautifully stupid about humanity is that we do not commit crime to commit crime-- we do it because in the moment we have deluded ourselves into thinking it is right. When you are doing 20mph over the speed limit, in your mind you've a justifiable cause. When someone robs a convenience store, they have convinced themselves that it is okay because they need the money. You can make an excuse for any crime that has been committed. There would be no way to eliminate, or even mostly eliminate crime because crime is not acted upon in order to be as such.

Essentially, the movie relies on the premise that people are repressed and need to take out their anger. In my world, most normal people manage their anger daily without the urge to murder, steal, rape, pillage, etc. A night for "purging", in the real world, would only be permission for mentally screwed up people to do as they please for their own reasons, while putting countless innocent people in danger. Tell me-- would you agree to this?

To live in absolute terror for twelve hours can induce incredible PTSD and can completely screw up children in the head, who then get the idea what crime can be okay. Within time, you would have generations of horrid people walking the Earth, devising ways in which to hurt and punish. You can see part of this in the movie where the people act as packs of wild animals, making plans, killing for pleasure, to "purge themselves" so to speak.

As a country, as a species, I doubt our government would ever agree to this, and I doubt the people would continue supporting representatives who did. When I first voiced my views about this film, I was told "well it's just a work of fiction. What makes this any different from, say Harry Potter?" I answer, portrayal of humanity. You can have seven-headed trolls spitting slime, but as long as those trolls exhibit actions and emotions characteristic of humanity, they become a very believable entity. The characters in The Purge are not believable. You don't just shoot someone because you don't like what they say, or try to murder a child just because the opportunity has presented itself.

You cannot say humanity can act near perfectly for 364 days out of the year, because we can't. As a writer, my biggest asset is creating characters that readers can connect with. They need to be believable, relatable, and act in accordance to what we as a species have developed. Without properly built and relatable characters, any fictional setting and plot fall to pieces. '

What I don't understand, is how this move made enough money to have a sequel coming out. Not only have I begun losing fate in Hollywood but also in people. Maybe this movie was such a success because we are more like the characters of the film than we know. Maybe we are packs of animals who wish to hunt and kill each other for fun. And that is sad. Way to go humanity.

~E J Royson

Early Morning Caffeine

In the early morning, long awake I've been,

Resuming to tear the words from beneath my skin.

Nothing new emerges but the pain subsides,

The hope and despair begin to momentarily divide.

But it's never enough to wash him away,

Lingering confusion, unsure to go or to stay.

Once the words are free to the ink, the gap closes,

Despair and hope collide, but despair imposes.

If what he said was true, then which do I believe?

The words he used to hurt me, or those used to relieve?

No analogy to knives could be made to what he said,

A knife wound could heal, but he tore open my head.
He let in all the evil I'd worked so hard to suppress,

Abandonment, trust, betrayal, all my weak points, I confessed.

He unleashed my demons and still claimed innocence,

But why unleash such horrors, even out of ignorance?
I was exploited, in the end, it was all he desired.

Like a fool, I let him in and gave him all he required.
But he swears this isn't true, just I lie I created,

Still the nagging persists, insisting I was baited.

Yet to amend, he explained he knows his guilt,

After tearing my words apart, the story he rebuilt.
He knew it was wrong, but he proceeded anyway,
I was just mistaken solace, but he enjoyed the display.

He swears he did nothing to persuade the friends I lost,
He promised he said little, that he understood the cost.
Since he confessed his wrongs, he said we were both to blame,
I suppose, then, it's my fault that I fell victim to his game.
There was no way for me to escape it, less jump to my grave,

I took the lesser of two evils for at least myself to save.

If I'm guilty of being selfish, and wanting to save my skin,
Then by all means string me up, I'll right away confess my sin.

Alone, I tried to cling to what little he left to remain,
But in doing so, he claims I hurt him, that I left him in pain.
Well I just didn't let him win, I didn't leap to my demise,

I guess it's not what he wanted, a glimmer of hope despite his lies.

But he tied up loose ends, and ensured I was left alone,

Quite what I did to deserve all this, I suppose will remain unknown.

But he tore my soul apart, left nothing for me to bear,
So every night I lie awake, convulsing in this despair.

~E J Royson

Rescinded. I Will Not Apologize.

I opened my journal for the first time in months. It's filled with letters of repent to the people who've hurt me, and the only thing I thought was that these people will never see the letters and they will never hear the apologies. Why? Because them hurting me is not my fault. I will not apologize.

Every day, I wake up saddened because I have lost people that I cared deeply about. I loved them, I went out of my way for them, I fought to keep them safe and loved, even when they weren't looking, and I thought of them all the time and what I could do to help them. I can look in the mirror and honestly say that I was a good friend to them. They can tell the stories of the occasions where I wasn't my best self, they can fabricate the things that they want me to have said or done, they can tell me that "everyone would be better off if I fucked off", but I know who I am. And now I know who they are.

The one who begs: The one who will do anything to make himself the victim to achieve attention.
The one who preaches: The one who blindly follows one story without proof and spreads the word.
The one who ignores: The one who would rather stay out of it, saving himself instead of another.
The one who encourages: The one who carries the traitors into battle through their spirit and defense.

This is my beginning. I am walking alone now. Every one that I have ever loved has abandoned me, with no other cause than a liar who managed to convince them all my evil. Their ignorance tells me they are children, with little more to gain than a pack of wild ideas to chase because they have no other means to an end. I have lost everything, so I have everything to gain. Apologies are not my means to an end, and I take back any apology or pleading for forgiveness. I did nothing wrong.

I did not raise an army.

I did not raise a lie.

I did not force down doors.

I did not force open their eyes.

I offered them a choice.

They chose to fight against me.

They chose to live the lie.

They took down my defenses
They bled me until I cried.

And I will NOT apologize.

~E J Royson

Something to Do, Something to Love, and Something to Hope For

His hand brushed against the fabric of the drapery and he looked on at the rain coming down from the sky. "I've been trying for months now," he said quietly, his eyes in the distance.

"What?" she asked, looking up from gathering her books for class.

"To figure you out," he finished. "You're hard to read."

"I'm not really that hard to figure out," she said, resuming packing her bag. "Look in any young adult novel, and you'll find me... a troubled teenage girl looking for adventure, but instead finds romance that forces her to settle down into the hell she swore never to enter. Pretty cliche," she told him.

"You can still go on adventures," he said, turning back from the window at the girl with a sad and distant gaze.

"There are no adventures left in this world to be had," she told him, taking her raincoat off the hook and sliding it onto her shoulders. "Adventures of far off, magical lands, are just stories in history books. Wars fought for freedom and honor are things of the past. People of injustice, escaping to freedom, no longer have an isle to look to. There is little left to discover in this world. Wars are fought instead for blackened gold and subjective ideals of what ignorant people believe to be the only right. People are forced into fallacies of believing they are safe in their freedom, told that one tiny voice can change the world. That one voice can do nothing without and army ringing behind it..." she trailed off thinking for a moment. "And people," she continued, "trick themselves into thinking love is an adventure within itself. That's how they get forced into giving up their dreams of adventure, their dreams of accomplishing anything of actual importance."

"You're too cynical," he said. "It's really not so bad as you think," he tried to persuade her, taking a few steps towards. "People who fall in love and give up on their dreams must really not have valued their dreams much in the first place. Love shouldn't hold you down, shouldn't hold you back. It should give you the confidence to achieve, the freedom to go out and explore."

"And if there is nothing left to achieve? Nothing left to explore?"

"Then tell me, if there is nothing left to be tried that is different from what has come before, why do we still bring life into the world? There will always be more to discover and if our time runs short, we will have others to continue searching. There are more adventures in this life than love," he said taking her hand, "but it doesn't mean you should exclude experiencing love from your list. Not everyone will hold you down. When you love someone, you will stop at nothing to show them just how high they can soar."

"And what if you get tricked by someone who promises to give you wings but instead pins you to the ground? They run circles around you, pretending they are achieving something extraordinary by keeping you down, when really they just want to feel as if they can accomplish something in their miserable life." She pulled her hand from his and turned away. "It's far to easy to be fooled by someone you think you can trust," she said quietly, sadly reminiscent.

"You are a kite, darling. When someone takes the wind from your sails, know another will see just how beautiful your colors are and will want to see you reaching for that endless blue sky of possibility. Don't give up on flying because one person tries to hold you down. If you know how wrong it is for someone to keep you stuck on the ground, then know it will be so much more satisfactory when you get back up and keep flying. No one can help you fly if you let yourself remain wounded. What he did to you is only over when you decide it is, when you decide to fix your broken wing. And when you decide to wipe that smug look off his face, get up and show him what for, I'll keep the wind in your sails. I promise."

~E J Royson

Percussive Silence

Like your instrument of choice,
you beat me until I tore.
You used me for your entertainment,
now this drum will beat no more.

Promising I had made good music,
you took me to the curb.
Evidently not good enough to mend
so that my music could be heard.

The hole your beatings tore into me
could have been easily mended.
Instead, you let me sit on the curb alone,
warding off those who had intentions.

You let them take me away with the trash,
so I guess my sound just wasn't right.
But with minor tweaking around the edges,
I could have played through the night.

But like your instrument of choice,
you took your anger out on me,
never caring how I might feel,
or all of the potential I had to be.

Since now I am worthless to you
and you lied and chased off others
I sit in this wasteland of brokenness
ever without hope to recover.

E J Royson

My Dad Was Giving Me Advice on Boys...

And then,

It suddenly clicked.

That boy had sought after me so long,

 there was no way he was letting go so easily. 

Purposely going out of his way to befriend my friends,

 and even go so far as to date them, 

was his way of ensuring he still kept me hanging on. 

And now I'm laughing, 

because there is no way in hell I will ever let him in again. 

Neither friend nor lover, that ship has sailed.

He is welcome to act in desperation on the shore

 but turning around would only make me repeat my mistakes.

And that is something I just don't do.

I hope he is happy.

He made the decision to treat me like shit on the bottom of his shoe and step on me all the time.

He made the decision not to try to resolve our problems but rather ignore them and me.

He made the decision to walk away and not fight for neither relationship nor friendship.

He made the decision never to pick up the phone and try to communicate with me.

He made the decision to turn my good friends against me with lies.

He made all of the decisions when it came to us.

The fault belongs to him; it is not mine,

And I hope the guilt eats him alive.

~E J Royson

PS-- Do you like how I made it look kinda like a ship sailing away from the screen? Hehe