childs poem

What makes you happy? Think about that for just a moment. Do you have that list in your head? Good. Keep it there.

What makes you sad? I’m sure there’s a collection of thoughts forming in your head now. Keep those there too.

There’s a question that isn’t asked nearly as often as the two questions above. A question that needs to be pondered and discussed.

What makes you feel complete?
What fills the empty void within your soul?

This concept- filling empty spaces, completing the mind and soul, being utterly fulfilled- is a concept that we, as humans, need just as much as feelings of happiness or sadness.

Completion and filling of the soul isn’t exactly something that is easily explained, however. The feeling of being absolutely overcome and serene with life isn’t one that’s easy to be put into words.

Think about what makes you feel complete. Is it a person, an activity, a place? Whatever it is, you need to hold onto it. Hold onto it with your soul. Because completion is one emotion that can immensely save a life.

Feeling whole and having the soul filled is the key to staying alive. Not so much surviving, but living. Being completed keeps the process of living actually enjoyable. The filling of the soul is so incredibly important to life, and holding onto the things that complete the soul will keep the soul living forever.

What completes you? Form that list, and never let go.

There are
people who will
always come back for you,
and it doesn’t matter
how deep you bury their souls.

in the middle of the night -
they will come for you,
floodlights on and the
barriers smashed to pieces.

and you’ll scream,
and shout,
and yell for them to
leave you alone,
but they won’t.

And you’ll curl up
into a ball on your bedroom floor,
hands covering your ears,
and pray
they won’t break you again.

—  charleigh aleyna.
I hope my name burns marks on your tongue,
and every time you say my name,
your evil soul gets tattooed,
like needles hammering away at your heart.
—  charleigh aleyna

Today could have been the day
That you blow out your candles,
And make a wish as you close your eyes.
Today could have been the day,
that everybody was laughing.
Instead, I just sit here and cry,

Who would you be?
What would you look like,
When you looked at me
for the very first time?
Today could have been
The next day of the rest of your life.

Would you have been president?
Or a painter, an author,
or sing like your mother?
One thing is evident,
Would’ve given all I had,
Would’ve loved you like no other.

Not a day goes by,
That I don’t think of you,
I’m always asking why
this crazy world had to lose,
Such a ray of light we never knew.
Gone too soon.

They’ve broken you
into pieces,
this world, this life,
Telling you you’re glass.

But although you’ve shattered into fragments,
and these hurting, angry, scared pieces
of yourself,
grasp to survive,
you continue to rise up
from the burnt ashes,
Piece by freakin piece.

And although you’re suffocating,
and the water you keep
gives the illusion that you’re drowning,
you don’t let the walls
shudder around you, and
destroy you.

You let it strengthen you,
instead of your organs
living in an empty shell,
you rise up over the walls,
rise up from the water
and show them
you’re made of steel.

—  charleigh aleyna.

Dad i wish you would put that bottle down
i wish you would tell me you loved me without reeking of

you missed my school performances, you forgot to tell me you
were proud of me

dad im tired of making excuses for you, my friends cant
come over because your passed out on the couch too drunk to remember your name

i cant study because your knocking things over,
im missing school because im too scared to get in a car with you
my room has become my sanctuary because you have tarnished
every inch of this house

sometimes i feel as if your death would lift this burden
you make me feel guilty, you make me feel inadequate
dad i hate you for forgetting to be my dad

—  B.D.

cold creeps in 
a little too late in November 
the vines on my torso crumble and shrivel
their thorns falling out and hitting the soil
like raindrops 
the flowers on my head fall around me 
the buds disappearing, leaving me
with nothing but scars

but i’m not afraid
of the marks left behind
i’m not afraid of being barren and cold 
my soil will take refuge for winter 
my buds will recover from the hot summer sun
and when the time is right,
when i feel ready,
i know i will become a garden once more

—  hibernation// hnl 2017

When I am four,
for the first time in the school bathroom
I grew up too fast.
I learned about what a human body can do,
what we’re capable of.
And I think and I wonder how she knew,
Children mimic what they see,
and as they see they do.
And I’ve grown to think that this is what children do.
She’s just a child, we’re just children
playing with blocks and getting paint on our smocks,
eating cookies
not stealing them carelessly and scarring young children.
Not having their cake
and eating it too
when it was never meant for you.

I’m six years old
and I’m in my grandmother’s house
and this is where I learned hell for the first time.
l close my eyes and grit my teeth,
but I keep quiet and don’t tell anybody
because I think that’s what good little girls do.
Why didn’t it scar you
and how can you look me in the face?
as though you didn’t gut me like a fish and spit me back out.
You give me panic attacks and crying spells,
and I’m your little stupid bitch that never tells,
because I’m terrified if anyone sees
that they will see just how UGLY
you made me.

AND THIS YEAR I finally admit it out loud.
The social worker asks me why I didn’t confront you about it,
as though it’s as simple as asking someone the time,
as though it’s as simple to look the devil in the eye
and ask why they ripped your nonexistent innocence away.
AND THIS YEAR I’m tripping in the streets, drunk and crying about what you did to me.
And my best friend is holding me up,
telling me it’s okay
and that I didn’t ask for it,
I asked for it, didn’t I?
Sharing my fears,
google search: how to be untaught that you’re only good for one thing.
AND THIS YEAR I wish I could say recovery had me under it’s wings,
that it didn’t hurt anymore,
but I still can’t look at myself in the mirror sometimes,
I still feel the ghost of your hands,
I still can’t love myself when you took that part of me with you.

And maybe one day I’ll look back on the past
and I won’t regret the choices
I made or the
Experiences I went through.

And maybe then,
Only then,
May I finally taste what freedom feels like.

—  charleigh aleyna.