It Will Not Scar My Heart


 
Where does the sunshine end and the dark of night begin?
When does the joy inside oneself give way to the dark within?
Where does the path of love give leave and the world falls away?
Where sunshine ends and night begins to engulf the light of day.
 
I dance the only dance I know, the one that stems the pain;
and step by step I move and sway, and hope it stops the rain.
But at every move and every turn the thunder sounds a drum
and reminds me of the life I live and that I cannot run.
 
Once upon a time I stepped to a rhythm of my own.
To a harmony and melody that I one time had grown;
and to that beat I danced and danced and quelled the little fears
that grew and grew and danced with me and with them grew my tears.
 
Until one day it hit me like the calm before the storm,
that on my mind the little fears had beaten, grabbed and torn.
Until the thoughts to which I stepped had began to bleed
and the little thoughts – anxieties – on them began to feed
 
My dance began to lose its fire, it’s passion, warmth, and zeal;
And the fears that ripped ferociously, began to feel so real
No longer could I dance and sway, to hide all that I felt,
with all my calm collected thoughts, my walls began to melt.
 
The rain it burned like acid and the thunder shook my core,
and although I tried to carry on, I knew that I could dance no more.
Beneath the weight of my own thoughts, I dropped down to my knees
and let the tears fall from my eyes as the ground began to freeze.
 
But just when I had given up, I saw a glimmer through the haze
A little spark, a light of hope, from my knees I began to raise
and the more I looked upon the light, the bigger it would grow
but the more I moved towards it, the further it would go.
 
When I stopped it did the same, but brighter still it grew
as it did I felt more and more that I would make it through.
Slowly I began to dance, to step and sway once more
despite the wind and driving rain, I’d never felt like this before.
 
Now I know that although strong, there is more here than the rain,
and as the light grows brighter I know that I can do the same
Although the storm has raged so long and left parts of me scarred
No matter how much it may try, it will not scar my heart.
 
©2015 Alex Hicks

It’s A Different Kind of Love

There is something we tell people all the time. People who are down or hurt, out of luck, or people who have trouble seeing that the way out is there, you just have to open your eyes. Something I’ve told myself a million times. And something I still believe…in part.

“You need to be happy by yourself to be happy in a relationship.”

I don’t really think it’s that simple. It has it’s merits – it’s portion of the truth – being happy by yourself isn’t something you can shake a stick at. But there’s more to that then what’s on the surface.

We have so many different kinds of love: love for yourself, love for friends, for best friends, for family, for animals, for foods, for objects – so many different kinds.

love

An intimate relationship offers something that other kinds of happiness cannot. A certain kind of love that you won’t find anywhere else. And sure, maybe some people don’t need that kind of love to be at their happiest. But maybe some people (like me) do. Maybe, some people can’t be the happiest they could possibly be without knowing that someone shares that intimate love with  them. Knowing that you love someone, more than anything else on the planet – someone who isn’t yourself – and that they feel the same way about you.

It’s not a feeling of dependency, not a case of low self-esteem. You can love yourself – but it’s not the same feeling as knowing someone else loves you. It’s a different kind of love.

I think that this level of intimate love is above all of that. It’s a feeling you can’t get anywhere else, no matter how hard you try.

And maybe some of us can’t reach our full potential of happiness without having that kind of love included in our lives. Maybe we just reach a certain level of happiness, and plateau – leaving us knowing that there’s more – and leaving us searching for it.

So while there is some truth to saying “You need to be happy alone to be happy in a relationship” I don’t really think it’s that simple.


Think of it like climbing a mountain.

mountain

At the very peak of the mountain – hidden by the clouds – is where you are the happiest that you will ever be. Sure, some people can make it there alone. But what I’m saying is this:

Maybe some of us can only make it to that peak with that certain kind of intimate love with us. Together with that person who shares it with us. We have all the gear to keep climbing. and we know the peak’s not far away, but still we are stuck here. Looking for that specific kind of love.

Until we find it, we stand on this plateau. Searching for it.

And it’s not a bad thing that we get stuck on that plateau, it’s a good thing. It’s almost like we choose to be stuck there. Because we know that there are others like us. Who feel that it would be a hollow victory for us to reach that peak alone. To have no one to share the victory with. To not have someone to share that level of love and passion with.

We know that there is more, we can see where the mountain disappears into the clouds. We know there’s more up there. More mountain – more happiness.

Maybe we just can’t reach it alone – or maybe we don’t want to.

My deepest desire is to climb the rest of that mountain with the person I choose to share my life with; the person who chooses to share their life with me.


I used to say – I used to believe – that a relationship wasn’t about depending on one another. That it was about being independent – together.

But in a way…I was wrong.

It’s not about being dependent or independent.
It’s not about friendship or reliance.
It’s not about compassion or empathy.

It’s about knowing that when you need to you can be dependent on them – and they on you. It’s about having a level of empathy with someone that you share with no one else. It’s about friendship and reliance on each other not matter the cost. It’s about compassion for one person that shines infinitely brighter than it does for anyone else.  It’s about love. A kind of love you can’t get anywhere else.

I will never reach the peak of that mountain alone. It’s not that I couldn’t – I’m sure I could if I tried.

But I don’t want to. So I won’t. There’s someone out there looking for me. Just as I am looking for them. And when we find each other, by the glow of the moon, we will climb that mountain together.

searching

Asleep

Asleep
Asleep is my favourite place to be.
It’s peaceful, almost happy
Because I’m not alone there.
 
It’s arriving and leaving
that poses a challenge.
 
When I lay down to sleep
I whisper “goodnight” to my window
And I hope that someone hears.
 
And when the sun peeks from beyond the water’s edge
I whisper “goodmorning” to my window
And I hope that someone hears.
 
And yet, I hear nothing.
 
A wisp of sadness leaves my lungs
on the wings of a sigh.
and my legs surrender to the weight of my words
and I fall back onto my bed.
 
15 more minutes…then I’ll try again.
 
©2015 Alex Hicks

The Land of Didn’t Care.~by rldubour

Originally posted on OUR POETRY CORNER:

The Land of Didn’t Care.

The morning sun come rising up, over the garden wall.
Shone on a girl so saddened then, she didn’t hear its’ call.
Come shine with me it said to her, come dance upon the lawn.
Come touch the trees, the flowers too, come celebrate the dawn.
She didn’t move, nor give a sign, she was as still as air.
The problem seemed, she had reached the land of didn’t care.
The land where only strangers meet and strangers they remain.
The land where quiet broken hearts wait to laugh again.
Step inside, touch a heart, mend a smile my friend.
Make her hear, make her see, bring her home again.

The sun rose high above the clouds and cast a shadow so.
On that girl so saddened there, she didn’t see its’ glow.
Come out from within the darkness, come look upon the light.
Come…

View original 189 more words

Words in Blood

When I write I hold the knife, and deep within I think
that with each poem that I write I spill more blood than ink
 
Because with each word that I know, that dares to grace the page,
my deepest thoughts, I delve into, and pour the blood away.
 
Much like the blackened ink that coats the tips of quills
Pages soak up blood drawn words like motion picture stills
 
And every stanza, every verse, blood letters on the sheet
From eternities of blinding pain, eternities words keep.
 
Within every poet, every artist, every piece
Ink flows where the blood once ran and never will it cease
 
and with every poem that I write, the artists cruel demand
a piece of me is drained away, and bled by my own hand.
 
So when I write I hold the knife, and deep within I think
that with each poem that I write, I spill more blood than ink.
 
©2015 Alex Hicks

A Window to My Conscience – Entry III

The Past 6 Months

Over the past year a lot has happened in my life. Last year I was diagnosed with Social Phobia and Panic Disorder and put on medication to help try to control it. It worked for a little while, but then in November of 2014, my father committed suicide. I won’t get into the details of it, but after the funeral, things started to change. First, let me tell you this: I have found closure. He is my father and I will miss him dearly, and I think about him every day. But he is gone. I am now focusing on getting better myself. My anxiety got worse – I started having 3-4 panic attacks each week – the smallest things would set them off. I went back to my doctor. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Now, with the help of some very close friends and some medication, I am in the process of getting the help that  I need.

But still the fact remains. I have a mental illness.

But what does that mean? What does that say about me as a person? Where do I go from here? What about my friends? What if they aren’t okay with me being sick? My family? My coworkers? How do I go day to day when all I can think about is worrying if I’m going to offend someone or have a panic attack? Is medication the solution? What if I can’t find a therapist? What if I can’t afford the medication? How much of my personality does my illness effect? My intuition? my sub conscious? My dreams? Am I just some broken person now?

All of these questions (and more) have popped into my head over the past six-months. The biggest one: What about my friends? I don’t have a lot of friends. 6-7 that I talk to regularly. What if when they find out that I have a mental illness, they want to leave.

Well, as it happens they did. And they didn’t leave. In fact they help me every day. They have helped me understand that I am worth something, and I am important to them. They encouraged me to talk to my doctor about getting into therapy. To talk to someone. Sure, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve said things that offended them and gone nights where they didn’t want to talk to me. But they always came back and they say they always will. True friends.

I’m learning more about my illness every day and I know I will get better. The future has a lot in store for me, and I have to get better to see what is there. To see my friends smile at me without fearing what they hide behind those smiles.


Now, mistakes have been made. Friends have decided that they needed a break from my problems. A break from me. And while my immediate reaction may be anger, it won’t stay. Because I understand them needing a break from this, from my anxiety. Because I do too. Someone once told me that it’s just as hard for those who love someone with a mental illness to handle the person with the mental illness as it is for the person themselves to handle the mental illness.

In my eyes, this cannot be true.

Someone without a mental illness cannot fully grasp how difficult it is to live one. It’s like saying it’s just as difficult for someone to watch actors in a play as it is for the actors to be in the play. You can watch and imagine how difficult it is, but without living it, you can never truly understand what it’s like to not want to get out of bed because you’re afraid of the outside world. Afraid to speak to strangers because of how they judge you. Afraid to let people in because they will only end up leaving you; it’s what everyone has done in the past.


INFJ 6w5

In my adventure to learn more about myself, I’ve taken more MBTI tests (Myers-Briggs Type Indicator) and Enneagram to try and help me understand why I make the decisions I make, and what my motivations are. It has revealed that I am an INFJ (Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging). The label feels good in itself – feels like there are people on the planet that understand me – people who are like me. INFJ is the rarest of all 16 personality types at only 1-3% of the US population. It feels special in itself. Empathy for me is almost like a super power. I walk into a room and I read the overall emotion of the room and it changes my mood. I value helping others over helping myself and yet, I fear that I’m not meeting my own potential.

I trust my intuition and usually I can tell peoples motivations through conversation. I am good at ‘reading people’ some would say. I pick up on all aspects of conversation easily and they help me determine people’s motivations and intentions through interaction. I am unlikely to have ‘casual’ relationships. Whether it is with platonic, or intimate, I avoid relationships with people whom I feel are not in it for the long haul. I value depth in all my relationships so it’s not likely that I would pursue a friendship if I don’t see it as one that will be deep and lasting. When it comes to intimate relationships, I think my past relationships have failed because I didn’t truely feel that the relationships would last forever. I was only seeking the companionship. I have the ideal intimate relationship in my head – and I know what I am willing to compromise on and what I am not.

Through the Enneagram I’ve found that I am a type 6 wing 5. This says that I am driven by an innate sense that I have no firm foundation to my life. Nothing really solid to hold on to. This couldn’t be more true about me. I’ve taken in a way in the past that lead me to becoming too attached to my friends, almost dependant on them, and it has pushed some of them away. That’s why I understand when someone “needs a break” from me. Because I lack a basic trust in the universe and seek something I can hold on to and in the past it has been my friendships. It’s something I cannot do anymore. I thrive on the sense that there is usually more to any given situation that others let on. I have to learn to not let this sense control me though as I have done in the past. I am keenly aware of power dynamics in relationships. I can usually tell who has power, who wants power, who will use it and who will misuse it. Where others see the status quo I often see a balance or an imbalance.


A Final Thought

This raises the question: Who am I really? I want to get to know myself a lot better than I already do. To learn my motivations, my good and bad traits, things I can change to better myself and things I can’t change – my character flaws – that make me who I am. What do I want out of my life?

That is what I aim to find out.

Arid Waters

Arid Waters

Drink of the water of the sleepless.
The water which within itself tastes dry.

A thirst that cannot be quenched
but by the bourbon of another’s thoughts;
by the whiskey of another’s dreams

Getting drunk on thoughts and dreams
does naught but catch the mind
in nets like spiders webs.
Made of the lines
that once formed letters,
that once formed words,
that once formed thoughts.

Twisted, tangled, messy and chaotic;
the web of strings of letters and words
touches me like one would touch a lover.

A soft caress – a gentle kiss.

And the senselessness of twisted words
becomes clear within the passionate embrace.

In chaos there is order;
In madness there is sanity.
And drinking of another’s thoughts –
tasting of another’s dreams –

Is getting drunk from an arid well.

©2015 Alex Hicks

Serene

Show me someone standing strong
Strained against the shame and sorrow
not slighted by the silent song.
Show me someone stronger still
Steadiness and iron will
A stormless serene symbol
of the smashed and shattered souls

©2015 Alex Hicks

Alone, There He Sits

This poem is another rather dark piece and is on the topic suicide. Suicide is something very sensitive to me as my father committed suicide in November of 2014. Again, it is not how I feel about myself. If you or someone you love is having thoughts of suicide please please call the suicide prevention hotline.

Canada and the USA: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

A full list of suicide prevention hotlines around the world is available HERE.

A man sits alone
in the place he calls home
and he sits in his chair and he weeps

A tear in his seams
Has wounded his dreams
And upon him, slowly, death creeps

He’s not broken yet
But he can’t forget
How he pushed all of his loved ones away

And now he can tell
That in this living hell
That he’d wishes he’d just let them stay

Now see the blood drip
From his fingertips
As it pools at his feet on the floor.

He’s fought for so long
His defences are gone
And he can’t fight alone anymore

And the pieces he’s lost
That his choices have cost
Have torn his conscious to shreds

His own mind betrayed
Wants not to be saved
So now – there he sits – until dead.

©2015 Alexander Hicks

A Shard of Himself

This poem is a rather dark piece and is on the topic suicide. Suicide is something very sensitive to me as my father committed suicide in November of 2014. Although I wrote this poem with feeling, it is not how I feel about myself. If you or someone you love is having thoughts of suicide please please call the suicide prevention hotline.

Canada and the USA: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

A full list of suicide prevention hotlines around the world is available HERE.

He sits all alone in his room
Picking up what pieces he can
He can’t shake this feeling of doom
as he holds what is left in his hand

The shards have all fallen from him
Like glass from a fell picture frame
The pieces all fall from within
And no one remembers his name

No one remembers the tears
That glistened in his soft eyes
All he can see is the pain and the fear
And all those who told him the lies

He knows that he should regret
Hurting the ones who say that they care
Now waiting for deaths soft caress
Only now he admits that he’s scared

He thinks that he won’t be missed
No more chances, he can’t ask for help
Blood pours when he opens his wrist
With a jagged, sharp shard of himself.

©2015 Alexander Hicks