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