A Room Full Of Noises

This is no poem

2007-06-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

This boy,

Hes trying.
Hes trying to help me survive him, this, and the hell in its entirety.
Although I appreciate his assistence
and cant imagine doing things without his words and thoughts
I fear I am becoming too much.
And like everyone else
he will soon grow very tired.

I am learning to fix things on my own,
but my way isnt the most healthy
and seems to always serve to be the most self destructive.
But I try to escape myself, my injuries and my memories all too much.
My back is finally mostly healed.

P.S. Mother doesnt love me

I will actually write when I am closer to putting myself back together

What do you want from me?

2007-05-01T21:16:00.000-07:00

You have the heaviest hands.

Im having problems.
Problems with my heart.
Im scared...
I wake up to my pulse in my ears
and sometimes feel as if the blood is running out of me.

At least now mum is allowing me to go to the doctor.
But now its becoming harder and harder to lie.

Its surprising that I am not better at this by now.

Doctors in general scare me.
Their hands are heavy as well...
they remind me of his,
of theirs.
Their fingers are cold, freezing, and make me shake.
He doesnt like the fact that I am 85 pounds.
He doesnt like the fact that I shake,
or do not look him in the eyes.
He sighs when I cry in front of him.

They are all sort of the same.

I do not and can not trust anyone.

Back, Forth, Back Back Forth.

2007-04-07T22:53:00.000-07:00

Hope.
It seems to be hard for me to grasp these days.

Things have been different.
Changing.
Not necessarily good, or bad.
Just different.

Different faces, less faces, more control.
The monster all of a sudden decided he has a jealous factor.
Now there are less faces.

I have found it hard to eat lately.
Harder than usual.
I havent really had an appetite since Etienne left us, left me.
It became less when we moved to the states.
Less when the monster brainwashed my mother.
And now it doesnt exist.
Cannot be found.

Maybe it is because I try not to be seen.
Spend all day hibernating.
I have too much
I sort of forget about eating.

But I need to.
I need strength,
and lately I have had none.
Ischelle has just been shrinking,
shrinking and achieving disappearance.
The less I am, the less there is.
The less there is, the less can hurt.
Is this Ischelle giving up?

20lbs in 30 days
I need substance.

Im trying. Please believe me.

2007-03-19T16:56:00.000-07:00

I have not forgotten about this site.
This site seems to be my only and little communication with the world,
and I appreciate you all probably more than you can guess.

I havent been around, and I apologize.
I havent even been at my house really.
I do not want to speak about it,
and there is nothing to really speak about.
I dont know how much longer I can do this.

Im trying.
This will change.
Things will get better.
Maybe soon enough I can be brave again,
spill my heart.

raw

2007-01-06T23:47:00.000-08:00

This will be short, choppy and unedited.
I just need an outlet. Help me.

Aside from everyday people, old school peers and drunken men, showers also mock me.
I scrub and scrub and stand constantly under the water and can never feel clean enough...
and worst of all
I can never get their smell
mostly his smell off of me.

I just keep telling myself
its all in my head.

In the year 2007 I have:
showered 17 times
washed my clothes 9 times
washed my hair 10 times

it will never go away.

I have never learned to ask for help. Ive been so sad for so long and its getting to me.
I am in a constant tailspin, an awful descent.
Someday, somewhere it has to end.
It has to end.
It has to go away.
Someday I will write in ultimate past tense.

Someday I will be able to write that I once knew a wolf.
One who left scars with his claws and bruised my wrists.
He would whisper things in my ear, kiss me with his jagged teeth and tell me no one would ever own me but him.

I did the unthinkable. I cried. I cried so much as I cleaned my sheets. His fingers were always cold and his breath was hot and I seemed to learn silence and compliance quite quickly.

The predator would fall upon the throat of his prey, puncturing soft tissue and bone fragments. I lay still for hours underneath his weight, and feigned sleep but his hands tore me open in rough indifference.

This wolf, this haunting wolf only led to more.
They stick to their pack and share bad habits.
I knew more wolves after that, one in particular who liked me quiet and depleted. Who put his hands everywhere and looked me in the eyes way too much.
They all leave me the same way.

Laying on the living room floor devouring oxygen at mass speeds. I dont eat for days and the world always spins rapidly beneath my closed eyelids. I read about poets quite often and wonder if one day I will somehow be admired for these scarred wrists and frail breaking bones.

I doubt it.

Mother screams 'move on'
and I say 'I cant'
but she wont hear it.
She doesnt accept failure.

Dear mum,
Please dont leave me in the room alone with sharp objects.
I am limp and dying inside.

I feel as if I will always be running from something.

twirling before his new years party:
[which was filled with drunken men telling me to refill their brandy glasses]

"slut"

Happy Holidays

2006-12-26T13:24:00.000-08:00

I lost my mind,
I completely forgot it was Christmas.
Happy Holidays - whichever you celebrate.
We dont celebrate any here...

I also apologize for my lack of...
'holiday spirit' as they call it.

But I have come upon a realization.
An epiphany if you will.

There are rules.
Certain rules that you must follow.
My mother introduced me to them as a young child.
You must follow these rules to survive, in ways such as mine.
You must become familiar with them, memorize them,
they are your guide to the finish line.
And if you are familiar with any of these rules
please feel free to identify.

I have come up with a some what appropriate label for these rules:

Fruit bruises, and so do girls.

.Remember who you belong to
and keep making excuses for them.
It may hurt but they are your lifeline, and they are all you have.
.Dont beg.
Begging gets you nowhere at all. And only shows weakness.
They dont like weakness.
.Learn to make pain your anesthetic.
Please just be productive. Its understandable that you are worthless, but at least try to prove them wrong in some way.
.Always talk in metaphors and riddles when people begin to ask questions.
Become a good liar, its all you have to survive. Its all you have to prove yourself.

.And most importantly, something you must not forget
as long as you live:
Never, under any circumstance, ever ask anyone to save you.

Horrid and short...Just something to say I am alive

2006-12-20T19:43:00.000-08:00

"Be careful....
be careful,"
my conscience says...

for when you are approached in an alleyway by a familiar face
knees tend to hit the brick walls first.

protect yourself.
protect yourself.
protect yourself.

Family always finds you.
And they seem to always leave you contorted..
and lost within yourself.

I am lost.
No more counting.
No more running.
No more fighting.
No more interrupting....objecting.
No. More.

I am...
numb
numb
numb.

Paranoia: Everybody's Coming To Get Me

2006-12-06T16:06:00.000-08:00

I got a job.
And I am even afraid of my boss.
One of the nicest men I have met...
and he doesnt know I am deathly afraid of him.
I flinch whenever her calls my name
or touches my shoulder
...he doesnt know...
and I feel extremely abnormal
as well as a trespassor in this conventional world.

Although I am some what away
I feel like he is everywhere, breathing down my neck.
When I walk in the city I expect him to be in front of me
holding my hand
telling me when to move.
I still find myself awake at night
in the corner or in the closet
covering my ears and squeezing my eyes shut.
I never sleep.

I work in a bookstore.
It is a hole in the wall, and I love it.
I read all day long.
I love the smell of old books.
I feel as if I live in them,
as if I live on, inside and throughout the pages
like I am the stories.
Books...everywhere books.
A book is like a box
and a box has six sides:
inside and outside.
Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a box
and everyone loved her.
They stared, they watched her suffocate while they poked and prodded her through the tiny, tiny breathing holes.
This is 'freedom?'
How many days can be left?

For most of you..who read these and hope that this is just a fabrication,
a continuous nightmare that I have or just
creativity flowing out of my fingertips...
Let me tell you a secret of mine:
Apologies but
I dont write fiction.
I'm not that talented.

Sigh

2006-12-01T22:29:00.000-08:00

I am so sorry for my absences.
I have nothing to explain them
Nothing you all do not already know...

I am sick of lying.
I am sick of hiding.
I am sick of waiting for bruises to heal
tears to dry
and the time for me to step back into public
so no one will ask questions.

I dont want this life.
I dont want it

But the one thing that I fear,
is that it will soon be as bad as it used to be.

I am back.
Will you take me?

I think you all underestimate how much your comments mean to me.

Come on, Come on. Just keep breathing.

2006-08-28T19:36:00.000-07:00

I swear I can be more.
I swear I can be more
then the sad little girl who cries because of dark closets and people that tell her
"be good, im not in the mood. i dont want to hear a sound. Lay back now."

I know I have to provide more to the world than an American Statistic.
More than another victim of a dysfuntional home.
More than another client to a therapist in my mid-thirties,
telling me things I already know about fearing older men.

I really need to get over myself.

It seems to be all my fault,
and I am blaming the wrong people.
Its all on my shoulders,
all inside my head,
I decide
and my judgment is skewed.
"I promise I wont hurt you if you dont cry. Its your decision, do you want me to hurt you?"

Today...I feel as if the sky is caving in.
The stars are falling to the ground
and the earth is constantly shattering.
His fingerprints harshly burnt into my skin.
Out of them all he is the worst. Out of them all he is the worst. Out of them all he is the worst.
Today the floors were unusually cold
along with his stares
I try to stay away from him
simply because
out of them all he is the worst
I lie and say that I go to sleep
Hour 138 of no sleep.
You think its not possible, it is...and I am light headed.
Almost 6 days...
almost 6 days....
What I do instead should not be known
and is something I do not choose...
but has to be done.

I am not my own, its not my choice.

So now I take all 5 spare rooms in this overpowering household, alternate between rooms and closets, and spend all day in hiding. Writing articles, poems, words, letters...and taping them all over the walls.

No one has noticed...

They tell me to feel the walls

2006-08-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

I've got to get me out of here
This place is full of dirty old men...

Embora dela somente estado dias EU ainda questao se dela real se isto e reaidade ...e se dela realidade acontecimento significar.
Que eu indo a fazer?
Eu hei nao selecoes......
I cant do this...
out of all the things I wasnt sure if I could do

I am afraid I cannot handle this.
I am very afraid that I cannot survive.

you can tell
from the scars on my arms
and the cracks in my hips
and the dents in my car
and the blisters on my lips
that i'm not the carefullest of girls

you can tell
from the glass on the floor
and the strings that're breaking
and i keep on breaking more
and it looks like i am shaking
but it's just the temperature
but then again
if it were any colder i could disengage
if i were any older i would act my age
but i dont think that youd believe me

and you can tell
by the red in my eyes
and the bruises on my thighs
and the knots in my hair
and the bathtub full of flies
that i'm not right now at all
there i go again
pretending that i'll fall
don't call the doctors
cause they've seen it all before
they'll say just let her crash and burn she'll learn
the attention just encourages her

and you can tell
from the full-body cast
that you're sorry that you asked
though you did everything you could
(like any decent person would)
but i might be catching so don't touch
you'll start believeing youre immune to gravity and stuff
don't get me wet
because the bandages will all come off

in the time it takes to break it she can make up ten excuses:
please excuse her for the day, its just the way the medication makes her...

Apres Moi

2006-08-12T14:13:00.000-07:00

I could genuinely write Regina Spektor a four page letter
telling her the amazing ways in which her music has saved my life.

Not an inch of the page would be blank,
and my words would begin to curl around the pages.

I would remind her of the one time we spoke before
face to face
and I told her that her music kisses my ears,
and she told me my eyes were the ocean.

I think I am going to put it in the post today if I can.

"I must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I, must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice "

Word Vomit cut short & dressed in Pink Lace

2006-08-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

I miss dancing in France.
I miss feeling like I had meaning.
I loved the music
I loved the movement
I loved being able to express myself without speaking.
Most of all
I miss my shoes.

When I would lace them
stand up
and the music would play
I would be someone else,
something else
other wordly even..
and I would love it.

I miss instruction
I miss entertaining
I miss pleasing
and I miss the feeling.

So here I go
nostalgic for French ballet instructors
and the sound of the wood in my pointes hitting the floor,
I leave you with these.

"You are so small, dont get lost"

2006-07-29T14:20:00.000-07:00

Lets play a game. One where I can pretend this isnt my life, and not my problem to deal with. A game where this is all a story, one which is simple enough to close the book and be done with.

Monsters are drawn to the city,
the bright lights...crowds of people..
This monster not green or blue
also goes by the name 'The man with the heavy hands.'

This so called 'man' would take the little girl to the city.
Go in and out of strange places and
she would often get lost in the crowds.

He went to get coffee
and he also bought cigarettes,
which is odd
because neither of them smoked.

He began to compuslively hold her hand
to keep her from being consumed by crowds of busy people.
They stopped in the park
sat on a bench.
The silence grew to awkward conversation,
and the conversation in itself grew angry.

She returned home crying
with her bittersweet love for the train stations
because the people there are so blind,
they turn their heads,
and they never really care what you are doing.

"This is what happens,
this is what happens to little girls like you"

A Song For You

2006-07-24T14:25:00.000-07:00

Lady Of The Wood

I wouldn't care 'cause machines are for the birds,
I wouldn't care 'cause machines are for the birds

Every night, we watch the same surprise
And he ripped his wing off of his arm and
He stepped through the blooming door

Scarecrows were walking through the rows to warn him
"Have you seen the missing lady of this wood?"
"Oh no sir, it's oh-so-sad; she was taken away, taken away."

Moonlight was making his skin glow like the fireflies he'd taken
From the tiny scarecrows in a hurry; he said,
"Sir, you'll need these on your journey."

He came upon a wishing well, kneeling forward and he fell
Softly floating down on wings of fireflies
And he saw her lying there, tangles in her hair, in her hair

Oh, her pretty broken wrist
Was clutched under her fist
Her ankles were all wound
About a silver gown

Maybe someday you will hear the music.

Anywhere But Here

2006-07-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

Youre really tired of all of my excuses.
Im passive, I hide, I am standing on the edge.

I stare at you with my glazed eyes,
spitting all the gibberish from between my lips.
You tell me that all of my plastic ideals are my demise
and that I allow him to live for me.
I allow all of their hearts to beat for me.

I say that everything is normal and that everything is fine.
You tell me you never believe me, and that I always lie.

And you tell me that I need to run.

So I do.

Out my door and down the stairs.
It would be nice if my mother identified herself.
It would be nice if I could recognize her.

I wish for her to hold me in her arms and stroke my hair.
I wish for things to be like they used to.
I want her to wipe my tears and tell me I am still a little girl,
and that I am allowed to be a child.

Instead she takes my hand and leads me to the stairs,
tells me I am selfish and disobedient.
I have now upset him,
and I shall pay the price.

My bruised hipbones press against his grainy palms as he pressures, no pushes, no he eases me onto the bed. I guess using that word accompanied by the descriptive 'gently' could make it seem better to an untrained eye, but to the rest, they can see it is really not better at all.

He smells spicy, like burnt vanilla and nutmeg.
It reminds me of the beaches in the south of France.
It reminds me of crickets rubbing their wings together on the screen of my window in Paris.
It reminds me of the bearded man selling watermelon on the beach, and the train traveling 515.3 km/hr across the European countryside.
I want to tell him all of this, but I am afraid of upsetting him.
Afraid of talking.
And he, being American and never stepping foot outside the boarders, wouldnt want to hear about it anyway.

He just pushes, pulls and tugs.
I cry, push, pull and tug.
My body is tired.
I disappear.
I get away.
I just close my eyes,
I know what to do
I just close my eyes
0..1..2..
2...3...4...
Infinity is a number.
I must find it.

One day I will breathe fresh air.

Forgive me for writing this.

2006-07-13T20:54:00.000-07:00

"are you ready?"

I dont understand the question.
But I dont say that.
I say nothing still.
I twitch. I whimper. I flinch.
Its strange when sad little Ischelle attempts to put up a fight.
I couldnt say much if I wanted to.
Your hand has been keeping me from breathing for quite a while now,
and I am crying pathetically on the sheets.

My eyes, my arms, my heart..they sting.
These tears that I am crying,
I feel like they are drowning me.

It happened at work. Lie.
It was a complete accident. Lie.
Wow I didnt even see it there. Lie.
I cant even remember how it happened. Lie.
Im just worried the doctors wont fall for it this time.

I am not that girl anymore.
The one begging strangers, begging him
to leave her be, to let her sleep at 2AM.
I dont think I can be her again.
She is completely gone. And we have cut off all correspondence.

I never seem to learn.
It seems that mum is correct, I never ever seem to learn.
Sometimes it still becomes unknown to me that he is stronger.
That I eventually fall limp from exhaustion.
Who do I think I am?

The hands are always the same.
Rough, heavy.
My face seems to disappear and my mind soon follows.
His fingers always cold like steel.
Invasive yet completely impersonal.

I clench my teeth and my heartbeat hurts my ears.
bump bump bump
thump thump thump
fast
slow
fast fast
slow
Counting one, Counting two, Counting three, four five...
"Look at me Elly....look at me."
"Dont cry Elly...dont cry."

One hundred and eight, nine, ten.
When I open my eyes, the sheets stick to my skin.
The pillow cases are salty and wet.
I tremble and wrap the blankets closer.
This is when I truly wish to disappear.
To go meet this man by the name of God.
And ask him why.
And tell him my name is Ischelle.
Ischelle.

Warning: I cant tell anyone what they want to hear.

2006-07-08T20:25:00.000-07:00

So what can I tell you all? You ask me for advice in hard times.
What do I do?
Focus on evaporating.
Becoming less and less until there is nothing else to feel what you feel.
Try to escape, always escape.
Escaping must be nice.

Why still be here?
Fight until you cant fight anymore.
Exhaustion is your worst enemy.
If all else fails, plead.
There is no hero here,
no one to save you, despite what others say or think.
There is only you and the antagonist.

Let the pain envelop you.
Each new wave is another few seconds to make it through.
Stare. Count. Count to 10, 100, 1000.
Hope he gets what he wants.
Be glad your face is hidden under thousands of pounds of guilt, pillows and sheets,
and no one can see your tears.
He can smell your fear, they all can.
Feel your pretty hair entangled and knotted in his fingertips.
Dont forget how to breathe.

Realize you have failed again.
Realize what you are, who you are.

Deal with it.