Just a Ghost

A ghost. Why am I always another ghost haunting the halls of the old hospital? I'm never seen, my presence is never felt. I'm always just... there. Maybe I'm just a slight breeze? A change in the temperature? No. Not even that. I am a movement of the air molecules that is next to never felt by another being. Could I walk through someone? Just maybe, I'm sure they wouldn't notice. I sit, and I sob. That's why ghosts always sob, because they are ignored and alone. Not because they have lost their bodies, no, because they long to be seen and felt again. There is no again for me, though. I'm just a ghost. Always have been and always will be.
Just a ghost.

Vanish

No! NO! This can't be. Not now. Things are getting better, they cannot get worse. Images flash, scream, and tear at me. So many things now can go wrong, why this?
A little girl sits in the corner, a faded blue dress hanging wetly from her skin, her hair in strings of mud and water. Her skin is pale white and spotted, gray spots that seem from beyond the grave, Her arms are folded over her bent knees, her head resting on them. She is crying. I hear a music box playing in the distance. No, I think to myself, No, why do I have to be so messed up? Why can't I be sane? I feel like screaming as she lifts her head. Blood is dripping from her liquid-black eyes, like tears from some demonic child. Her mouth is sewn shut, and I now notice the bow in her hair. She tilts her head, as if to examine me, to ease her curiosity of some exotic animal. A scream escapes my lips and I hide myself away from this wretched thing pretending to be human.
When I look back she is gone.
...
A shadow, only a shadow, I try to calm my pounding heart. It is not a shadow, though. No, there isn't any mistaking it. This is a hand, coming out of a dark, billowing robe. It is old and claw-like with arthritis. The skin covering the decaying bones and muscle, the maze of vanes, is yellow and hanging, not seeming to be attached at all. Brown spots cover it. It reaches towards me, death swirling around it like the thickest shroud of mist. Goddess, I plead silently, squeezing my eyes shut, please, Goddess.
Then, it's gone.

They always vanish. I know they aren't real, so then why do I scream? I always scream, I'm always so afraid. What if they do hurt me, like they so openly threaten to? Some day, I swear on everything I have, I will make them stop, and I will be sane.
Because the always vanish.
Vanish like smoke.

Could It Be?

I unfold the paper in my hands and can't help but walk that much slower. A smile plays on my lips. This is what I've been waiting for. His almost-neat print fills half the page in delicate words, from a soft graphite pencil that rolled over the once-wood. My heart pumps ever-so slightly faster, my breath shallows, and my mind screams at me. Yes, finally. Don't think twice, Alysha. This is what you want, this s what you need. Is it so? I can't be positive, but still a smile plays on my lips. No tears. No hurt. Just... joy. Something so foreign to me I'm not completely positive of how I should react. Joy. Don't let anything tinge that joy, Alysha. You know better than that. Yes, I do know better. I push thought from my mind and scurry off to P.E. class. In my minds eye I see myself in the middle of time square, spinning with my arms open and my head tilted to the sky, laughing loudly enough for the world to hear. Yes, this is what I want, this is what I need. The folded paper flips between my fingers and thoughts race past my mind. This is what I want. This is what I need. How do I say yes? Anything special? No, a smile will do. For once, this smile touches my eyes. For the first time in as long as I can remember there aren't tears hiding behind that grin, that half-laughter. For the first time.. it's really happening.
Could it really be?
Oh, Goddess, could it be...

My Love

How can I imagine? A sweet laughter shared between us. A smile playing on our lips, a sparkle in our eyes. This beautiful moment is so close. I can feel it. It's coming near, I just have to make it happen. I can't be vulnerable anymore, I can't only float down the river, I have to swim to shore. I have to swim to that grassy paradise and be with him. Finally, it's in view. Comfort fills me and I close my smiling eyes. Visions so sweet dance behind my eyelids. Visions of a beautiful future, filled with love and possibilities. A future I will make happen. It's my own heaven, my secluded paradise. His voice is the most beautiful song imaginable. Lulling and filled with excitement. Comedy-filled or somber, hearing it brings me to my perfect medium. Seeing his handsome face makes me smile, I imagine kissing his smiling lips. (A smile playing on our lips, a sparkle in our eyes.) In my mind I poke his perfect nose and he laughs. He is, no doubt, my angel. My savior, my love.

Be My Angel

Hollowed, Alone, and Broken. I need an angel. So desperately I pray to the goddess for one, so I can forget the heartthrob of mine. No, not forget, just... so I can remove the thorn. The scar will always be there, for better or worse, but I pray the thorn will leave. I figure that if I can somehow, someway, find an angel, someone so perfect, that I will be able to live through the denial of the bitter-sweet love of a real angel. Though an angel no doubt, he's stranger to me. Mother always warned to never take candy from strangers. I will neither feel his gentle arms nor taste his lovely kiss. Tears stain my cheeks and I drop to my bed, I cannot stand this, where is my Prince Charming, riding along on his majestic mount to save me from the vicious dragon that is my pain? As I fall I see red confetti all around me, my hair dances above my face. My lips part ever so slightly and I feel like I am in water, being rocked by the gentlest of waves. Angel, I think loudly, offer me your hand, please, I'm falling. It's blood I see, I'm falling! Please, offer me your hand! Save me, only you can! But, there is no angel, there is no savior, only me, in a pool of blood - my own blood - and I can feel no more. I no longer only feel gutted, I am. My hands clench the blade in my abdomen and tear it out, allowing a rush of fresh blood to warm my skin. When I wipe the blade clean I see a name, his name. I can't take it. Next thing I know the blade is flying across the room, spinning in air, towards him. No, my mind whispers, when did he get here? No! No, no, no! The blade lands in his chest, then goes through as he turns to vapor and disappears. I hear a dull thump as the blade sticks itself into the wall and I begin to bawl. He wasn't here. He'll never be here. I lay back down and gently clasp my hands over a white lily on my chest. Angel, time to wake this young girl with a gentle kiss. My eye's wont part until that day comes.
Angel, oh Angel, please. Please be my angel.

Stirring the Ashes.

How is it possible to be filled with joy and excitement, yet hurt and pain at the same time? I long, always long, for my love, though I know it will never be. So why can't I get over that, move on for just a while and forget while I am so ecstatic? I've no idea. I've pondered and pondered endlessly, searching for the answer, but I cannot find it. Such glee has pulsed through me, I want to hang on to that glee, no matter what. I know it will die though, and I will again be left with loneliness, pain, and longing. Am I to give up? I do believe so. I give up all hopes, and maybe, just maybe, I will be fine and well again. I just can't stir the ashes, as I have been.
Stirring the ashes always gets you burned.

Pourquoi, je t'aime, toujours.

Standing on the corner of Lucas and Priceless, I felt a wonderful sense of truth. I also felt, though, a severe pang of longing and hurt. What had I done to myself? No, not only to myself, but also to who I care so much for. The corner of Lucas and Priceless. That's where I want to stand, forever, and flaunt it to the world. It seems as though it's the only truth there is, as I stand there in my bitter-sweet oblivion. I fall in and out of trances, day dreams that are too real and vivid to be called dreams, and a pain runs me through like a double-edged sword. That's what I'm up against, that's what's cut me through and through, isn't it? the double-edged sword? Still, still, I stand below the only truth I can grasp. I stand on the corner of Lucas and Priceless. I drop to my knees, hurt and alone, and begin to cry. "Mon Lucas, mon amour" I whisper gently in a shaky breath, "Je t'aime, plus. Je t'aime, plus. Pourquoi, pourquoi, pourquio?" Words of different tongues roll past my lips on breaths as rough as the stormy seas. I collapse to my side, finally, and fade to black. As I do so, one last whispered breath escapes past my lips. "Pourqoui, je t'aime, toujours."

the Dirt Under Your Feet.

I am hated. I have no doubt about that. Not one at all. In my household I am either a ghost coldly ignored and unseen, or I am the child who does everything wrong, even when I do something right. I ask for something I am so passionate about. (and, don't get me wrong, I don't ask for things more than five dollars, and anything under that hardly ever. I know my place in the sceme of things now.) Music literally is beauty to me. Pure elegance. This is why I currently play three instruments. Now, it may seem greedy to you, the reader, that I am deeply upset because I cannot learn a fourth, the violin, but let me explain the situation before you judge, deal?
I have asked to play the Cello for a long, long time. I absolutely love it's sound. Though, I understand why I can't, it's way too expensive. I get that. What I don't get, can't get, is why I cannot rent a violin. If it wasn't for my mom, I would get it. Completely. I'm always told we can't afford it, and with the Economic Crisis and Debt crashing down around us, I understand. I don't get, though, how if we can't spare a few bucks every few months how my mother can afford Seventy-dollar swimsuits. How she can get a hundred dollar ring monthly, fifty to sixty dollar pants weekly, twenty dollar shirts daily, and a gym membership (when she can hardly walk). How does she think we can afford having her spend the money we don't have when we can't shave a few dollars for my passion?
Do you see why I'm grumpy now? And, though they aren't as bad as my mother, Papi and Bubu do the same thing. Being the unwanted one is truly hell, and I hope none of you can sympathize with that. Why can't they ever be proud? I've lost my sense of way in this house. I know my place but I don't like or want my place. Why, you ask? Because my place is with the dirt under my family's feet.
That's all I am... The dirt under your feet.

Gone.

Why am I so empty? This pain is something new to me, something different from every other pain I have felt, and it is so, bitterly harsh. Being denied does that to one, though, doesn't it? I don't mean being denied a stuffed animal, a necklace, a dinner out. No. I mean being denied one's hopes and dreams and love and longing. Have you ever felt longing before? That sense that you need to, need to reach out and grasp something so immensely special to you? Now, imagine that something - that orb, that ball of something so desperately needed - grazing your fingertips, but always out of reach just when you think you've finally - Goddess, thank you, finally! - got it, and its again gone. You're left empty and alone. Hurt and crying. Defeated forever in the grace of that which you venerate so.
I feel this every day of my life now. I know that I will never have what I so desperately want. And, worse yet, for reasons I don't understand at all. If I could understand why, then maybe it could all be the tiniest bit bearable. But, no. There is no luck with me, no force on my side. I am alone in this cold, cruel world, and I am expected to bear fruit nonetheless. I am left brimming with a cold sorrow. The kind that never leaves the pit of your stomach, the constant tightness in your throat, the anguish that cuts deep into your soul. And I am lost, forever, to the world.
Gone.