I don't know how I feel when I think of you

I don't know how I feel when I think of you. 

Sometimes I want to scream and shout and tear my room to pieces. Other times I want to cry and roll into a tight ball rocking myself from side to side. You make me scared sometimes. Not only a fear against you, but a fear for you too. Mostly, I wish you'd go backwards in time and be the person I used to know and trust. But how far away has that person gone? Has that person left forever? I really think so...

I don't understand what you've become or why you act the way you do. And I don't understand why you're so ignorant and chose to be that way. I don't understand anything you are anymore. And I don't understand why you think you play an important role in my life still.

If I don't understand you and wish I didn't know you... why do I miss you?

Why do I want to her your voice? 

Why would I ever feel the need to see you again?

I don't understand myself sometimes.

I make no sense. 

My heart acts one way, my brain acts the other.

But where is this emotion coming from?

Surely not my heart, and defiantly not my brain.

It's strange the way I feel about you. Perhaps I don't feel anything at all anymore.

Why do I want to see you? Do I really think you've changed? Will you really become the person you were again?

No! You wouldn't, and you don't even want to.

I don't understand... I don't want to understand... I want this to be a misunderstanding... 

But hey, I'm 14. And this is what I've been told to understand.

I'm young in your eyes, I'm vulnerable in your eyes. I'm an easy target in your eyes, I'm a lost hope in your eyes. I'm unimportant in your eyes, I'm selfish in your eyes.

Want to know what you are in my eyes?

You're dead. You've lost my trust, my respect and my love.

So why do I still miss you?

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.

A Small Story, 'Dear Diary'.

Dear Diary, 

Today I woke up dancing into the moonlight with the man of my dreams. Then I woke to the alarm clock. Nothing else happened. Nothing else important.

Dear Diary,

Today the sky was grey and full of clouds. The sun came out for a few minutes but hid itself again. Nothing else happened. Nothing else important.

Dear Diary, 

Today I waked to the shop and bought some milk. Nothing else happened. Nothing else important.

Dear Diary,

I'm done and I want to start anew, so goodbye. I'm leaving you.

I'm going to talk to God instead. I hear he has answers. I also heard that due to the recent financial crisis he has turned off the light at the end of the tunnel to save electricity bills. That made me laugh. Don't know about you though. But maybe he'll turn it back on for me.

I'm in some real need of light. And not just the few minutes of sunlight we had two days ago. I need a beaming light from a lighthouse to be drawn into my heart and make my face glow again. I need Apollo to come down and enter into my mouth and travel to my soul, so my breath can gleam. Apollo is the God of light and the sun, but I'm not only looking for that from him. He's also the God of cures. I need a cure, and he has it. My cure is light. I want light. Light means help. I want help. I want help... no... I need help.

Diary don't take offense to me leaving you. I'll come back. Probably soon. I don't see God having a light for someone like me. I don't see him having the answers. I don't see anything. Am I blind?

Oh Diary, have you given up on me too? Or do you just mock me with your empty pages. Pages filled with nothing but the words of a lost child. Pages that mock me with every sentence. Pages that hold no meaning, have no reason to be written. Pages that don't serve a purpose. Pages that no one will ever look at again. But if they did, they wouldn't take more than two seconds examining my scruffy writing of absolutely nothing of interest.

Diary speak to me! Tell me what to do. Don't sit there in silence as I mourn for what I was. Mourn for what I've lost. Diary talk to me. Tell me what to do. I can't bear the torment. You lay there peacefully while I rant and huff and puff. I feel like the wolf in 'The Three Little Pigs', I huff and I puff and I try again, but I go nowhere! And my effort was put to waste on something I'll never achieve.

Diary... what am I to do? I'm a coward. I can't even face my own feelings. I can't face my mother, my father. I can't face what I've done. I can't find light. I'm absorbed by darkness...

Does light even exist? Am I searching for the non-existent? Or am I searching for the impossible?

Diary you hate me! You hate me because you mock me! You sit there and listen and you don't answer. Is God the same? Am I falling into the pit of what I'm already in? Is it too deep to climb out? Is there any point?

Diary, do you fear death? I don't.

I don't fear death because I don't have anything to live for. People who fear death have an importance to their life. They have something to live for, something to want to stay alive for. I don't fear death. Ha! I laugh at death.

But the laughter cannot be heard because death mocks me too. Death has picked me up and put me into the darkness. Death is the reason my parents don't talk to me anymore. Death killed my dreams, my hopes and my brother.

No, death didn't kill my brother... I killed my brother.

Diary, I killed my own brother!

I was young... so young... and so was he. I wanted to help mother! I thought I was doing the right thing! Diary, hate me! Hate me because I drowned him. Hate me because I put a baby boy into a washing machine. Hate me because I told mother I gave my brother a bath with a smile on my face as she praised my good deed. Hate me because she started screaming over her dead baby as she realised what I had done. Hate me as she ran into the street with a baby boy in her arms and tears streaming down her face as she yelled as loud as she could, "Someone save my baby!" Hate me because no one could save him. Hate me because it was too late. Hate me because he died that day. Hate me because he died on my account. Hate me because I made lives empty...

Diary, hate me.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.

Was I Meant To Take Your Place?

Was I meant to take your place, and stand up proud and tall?

When all I want to feel, is nothing at all.

Was I meant to be strong and not fall apart?

Was I meant to hold on, keep true emotions at heart?

Am I meant to be you? Do I take your place?

Do I stand up tall? Do I step back one pace?

Do I love you? I do.

Do I miss you? Times two.

I want to take your place, I want to make them proud.

I want to be you, so crazy and loud.

I want to make people smile, the same way you did.

I want to be twenty and act like a kid.

But I can't be you, no matter how hard I try.

So I'll just wait until the tears run dry.

Then one day I'll accept just being me.

I know it's not good enough, but I'll be who I'll be.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.

A poem I wrote quite a while back.

Empty

My world keeps spinning round and I keep falling down.

I wake each morning to a mirror, a stranger with a frown.

It's funny when I feel like hanging from a rope.

What's funnier is when I've just lost all my hope.

But I'm not the one laughing, no, I don't even smile.

In fact I forgotten how to, it has been quite a while.

You know when something has gone? Lost, or forgotten.

I wish I was forgotten I would wish it again and again.

But then I never really had to wish, because I got what I wanted.

I feel like shot down prey. I think I'm being hunted.

And empty space fills my heart. My eyes have lost their shine.

So I'm sitting here writing to no-one. Writing nothing, line by line.

Your world keeps spinning round and I keep falling down.

I wake each morning to a mirror, a stranger with a frown.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.

Something I've Dug Up.

I wrote this for English class a while back but I thought it was worth posting.

The Story

I stick my nose in the air and look around. Something isn’t too right about this place. It gives me strange tingles down my spine, that feel like little electric sparks in my stomach, making my palms produce tiny beads of sweat and my expression ever so puzzled. Nervous… yes, I’m very nervous. Gosh, I never knew it could be so tantalizing to be standing in a hallway. Waiting merely for a form to sign. It’s not like I don’t want this, oh trust me, I do, I want it so badly. I’ve been waiting since I got here. Being one of those young kids…

You know, one of those crazy 7 year olds with two little pigtails, each hanging down by a rosy pink cheek that had an innocent gleaming smile of amusement and happiness painted across in bright primary colours. With more knowledge than that of adults, unaware of things I was able to do. Innocence is all an act. But is it true when a 7 year old is able to burn down a building and laugh while watching it? With my tiny pair of glasses fixed onto my tiny button nose and my gleaming blue eyes that were glossy as if someone had just polished them. Being taken away and put behind bars, labelled insane… held down while the world expanded around me.

I start to pace up and down, making myself more and more nervous with every second that passes.

            “Scarlet?” a voice calls out. ‘That’s me!!!’ I think to myself. “Scarlet Mayers?” The voice calls out again. ‘Oh God… I feel faint.’ I think again.

“Here.” Came a voice… I think it was mine. It was more of a squeak than anything else. One a dog makes when someone unkindly steps on his paw.

I start to walk in wobbly steps. I’m so weak to my nerves. She extends her arm and hands me an envelope. Then she pats me on the shoulder.

            “Good luck, sweetie,” she tells me. I obediently nod my head and turn around. I stop for a brief second. This is the last time I’ll be in here. I start to run those words through my head. This is the last time I’ll be in here. Three particular words is all I can think about. The last time. The last time. The LAST time.

I close my eyes and breath in and out once. Then I open them again, smile, hold my head high and I take long strides across the grey, dimly lit hallway.  I look around. Taking in every little mark, scratch and chip of the fading paint. It really was a miserable place, full of miserable people. I smile. Misery. The word made me smile. M-i-s-e-r-y. How unusual, in such a small and lovely world that God created. Misery.

I smile again. My heart stops and so does my pace of walking. I’ve come to a door. I know this door… I just can’t seem to place it in my mind. I’m so used to walking in the other direction of this hallway. I haven’t come to this door for a long time. But I know I’ve seen it.

Like when you remember something from a long time ago. As if it were a dream. But it isn’t as mystical and effective as a dream, that carries you away into another world and makes you as light as a feather as thoughts of happiness dance around your eyes.

I look up to the door, unsure of how to open it.

            “Miss Scarlet?” A voice came out of nowhere. Like an angel from heaven, maybe. Suddenly I start to feel a hand on my shoulder.

            “Who are you?” I stutter. I don’t turn to face him. I keep myself masked. I’m scared.

            “Miss Scarlet, I’m just here to let you out.”

            “Let me… out?”

            “Yes,” the man then laughs a little.

            “It’s not funny,” I’m offended now.

            “I’m not laughing at you; you’re just not like the other girls. You’re younger, prettier.” Was I getting… compliments? No more ‘That girl’s crazy’? I smile a little. And turn around to face him. His smile disappears and he steps back. My face becomes a puzzle. Each piece flickering out of place, and easily put back together with the right amount of knowledge. I don’t know what to say. So I keep to myself. He walks around me not looking at me. Then unlocks the large door. I squint. It’s sunny out. I wait in the door for a moment just absorbing the light.

I see people walking around; trees start coming to life. Aren’t they just beautiful? The way their branches stretch out in the air. Freely brushing past the particles. Oxygen, Hydrogen, all moving out the way to make space for these long branches that are holding onto the leaves like their treasured possession.

            “Thank you Sir,” I said to the man. He smiles at me again. Then closes the door as I take a step forward and out. Out these doors for the first and last time.

I look down the street just tracing the houses with my mind and taking in all the wonderful colours. I let out a sound of amusement. Like a new born baby.  Just opening its eyes to the joys of the world around itself.

I lift up one leg. Admiring the freedom of this one step and I begin my way home.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.

A Small Story

Once Upon a Time

"Once upon a time..." she whispered into the empty bottle of vodka. She sunk down onto the floor, using the wall for support. Her head hung down heavily and she let her arm holding the bottle flop to the ground from her lips. Her eye lids began to feel like weights and she slowly let them start to close. "Once upon a time..." And she was out.

Two long wheezy gasps and then a finger twitch. A flutter of an eye lid and a long pain-filled moan. One hand let go of the empty bottle of vodka and slowly took itself to attend to the pounding head. As the cold finger softly hit the surface of the forehead another moan broke out. Then the rest of the hand softly lay itself over the forehead. Some slow breathing was heard and then a sigh. Someone picked two feet up off the ground and dragged them down a badly lit hallway and into a badly lit kitchen. The hand that wasn't on the forehead reached towards a kitchen stool and pulled it out. Then the body slumped itself down into the stool.

At 11.am an oven timer went off. And the still body suddenly came alive again. This time with more energy, it picked itself up and walked smoothly into a bathroom. There, a brush was picked up and put down again. A toothbrush got wet, minty, was washed and put away. A toilet was flushed. A painkiller was swallowed. And a hair-tie was used to pull hair away from the eyes. And bit by bit this body became a person.

Her two blue-grey dull eyes slowly rose to look into a mirror. She stared at the mirror. Her eyes meeting a pair of solemn, cold, lost blue-grey eyes. Her mouth was opposite a swollen lip and her cheeks were facing a pair of cheeks that were full of colour; blue, purple, brown... bruised. 

She didn't acknowledge the way she had fallen apart so badly that even her face showed pure loss and depression. She barely acknowledged how hurt she was, or even how badly she was hurting herself still. But for a matter of fact, she barely acknowledged herself as a person.

It's had been months since Allan passed. Isabella never took her time to clear her thoughts, never took her time to mourn properly. She didn't talk to anyone about him, she didn't tell anyone about him, she didn't cry in front of people. No, she scared them instead. She drank large amounts every night. She had rows, fights, arguments and disagreements with anyone and almost everyone who was larger than herself. It was as if she wanted to get hurt. Her family and friends watched as she started to fade into nothing.

Was it really enough that she claimed she felt no pain? Did people believe her when she told them she was fine? Was she really that great at acting that no one ever worried? No.

Everyone was scared, not only for her, but for her child. 

Scarlet, reaching 7 years of age. Lost her father. Is losing her mother. Feels lost herself.

How can a child so young grow into a world like this? It's not as if she didn't understand. Because she did. She knew that she wouldn't hug her father ever again. She knew that she wouldn't get a hug from her mother any time soon. She also knew she would never let go of Allan. She knew his favorite colour was blue. She knew his favorite song was 'Clocks' by 'Coldplay'. She knew that in the morning he would sit in the stool closest to the window, pull out a cigarette and smoke it. She knew that he would then make coffee, read the newspaper and go to work. She knew that she would remember him forever.

It was 12pm before Scarlet felt safe to go into the kitchen. With the remains of a mother who had been drunk last night. She was scared and walked cautiously. 

She had a head full of questions but she kept them all to herself. She didn't say anything. She slowly used one shaky hand to grab a box of cereal and then used to other to open the fridge and take out some milk. She settled into a stool with a bit more confidence, and started pouring milk into the bowl. She then added a spoonful of sugar. Mixed the milk and added some cereal.  

She picked up a shiny spoon, used it as a mirror to smile at herself, then she dug into the cereal and ignoring her mother she ate every last cheerio hoop.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.

Close To You

I just wanted to open my blog with some song lyrics.

Maybe it will tell you a bit about what kind of music I like. Maybe not.

Either way, I'm posting it, and I never told you that you had to read them.

Let me introduce this song.

It's one of my favorite songs for a long time now. 

Although for many years I never knew the name of it, only the tune.

This song is called 'Close To You' by the 'Carpenters'.

Here is the song!

Why do birds suddenly appear 

Every time you are near? 

Just like me, they long to be Close to you.  

Why do stars fall down from the sky 

Every time you walk by? 

Just like me, they long to be 

Close to you.  

On the day that you were born 

The angels got together 

And decided to create a dream come true 

So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold 

And starlight in your eyes of blue.  

That is why all the girls in town 

Follow you all around. 

Just like me, they long to be 

Close to you.  

On the day that you were born 

The angels got together 

And decided to create a dream come true 

So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold 

And starlight in your eyes of blue.  

That is why all the girls in town 

Follow you all around. 

Just like me, they long to be 

Close to you. Just like me (Just like me) 

They long to be Close to you.  

Wahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. 

Wahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. 

Hahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you. 

Lahhhhhhhhhhh, close to you.

-Eggy Mayers, wanna be writer.