Summer Pop-Punk Days | June Gloom + July Sunshine | Hungover Love (poems)

Proud to have three of my poems published in my friend Jen Roomes’ kickass zine crapnation!

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Hush (poem)

Got this little poem called “Hush” published today over at Horn & Ivory Zine for their last issue!

Fun story behind it – I wrote it during my recovery from surgery back in January while loving my life on morphine! I have very little memory of actually writing it but I’m proud of it. It’s actually a song still in progress – the poem version of it just got published first.

Thanks to the folks at H&I ❤

HUSH
by forrest jamie
He’s playing me
acoustic heartbreak in
the scale of Lies
but it’s my time now. It’s my turn
so hush down and close your eyes.
No, you don’t know this one,
only I know the words to this song.
Hush down now and close your eyes.
I’ll sing us to sleep –
you for a few hours,
me forever.
A Tylenol lullaby bye baby,
composed of some whiskey and codeine.
A cocktail hymn of shallow breaths and SSRIs.
My narcotic lullaby bye baby,
for your ears and one night only.
Under stainglass stars and porcelain moonlight.
My lethal lullaby bye baby,
my song of goodnight
(goodbye.)
hi

World Suicide Prevention Day 2017: I Was Made For…

It’s September 10th, which means it’s World Suicide Prevention Day. TWLOHA’s slogan this year being Find What You Were Made For.

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I really struggled with this. I’ve been in a bit of a low period lately, so it’s all too easy to shut out the positive. Once I realized that that’s what I was doing I found that the answers were actually pretty simple.

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I Was Made For my art. I was made for my music and my writing; for my creativity.

I Was Made For these amazing people I get to call friends who understand and are there for me, and in return be there for them. To give them back the love and hope they’ve given me.

I Was Made For the chance to be a voice in this world. A voice to raise awareness. To fight the stigma of mental health. To fight for equality.

I Was Made For being more than my depression and anxieties. More than my BPD. My disorders do not define me.

I Was Made For something I haven’t figured out yet. But I have to believe I will.

I Was Made For this. Here. Today. Tomorrow.

♥♥

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Stay. Find what you were made for.
#WorldSuicidePreventionDay

How My Tattoos Help ‘Heal’ My Scars

New article was published on The Mighty today! My second with them. 😀

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One Year (April 17th 2016)

April 17th 2016. A day I won’t forget – can’t forget.

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Today marks one year since my last suicide attempt.

On this day in 2016 I swallowed a cocktail of pills, slit wrists. And I was saved by two friends.

Life has changed in so many ways since that day. Some for better, some for not. And some things are exactly the same. It’s crazy thinking back on what I’ve been through in just a year. So much. Too much, at times. I look different now, in a very noticeable way if you know me. Last year I was already fading fast and it’s all taken its toll on me, both physically and emotionally.

Heartbreak and betrayal. Successes and failures. Friends found and lost. Illnesses and surgery. Abandonment.

So many ups and downs.

I’m still just a fragile girl, a scared girl, lost and unsure. Loneliness is still my closest friend, but I’m moving forward in life. I’m making things happen. Things I never would have thought possible on this day last year.

Baby steps.

A year ago today I gave up on life. But I’m still here. I wanted it all to end but two amazing people saved me that day, and I found hope. I’m still here.

Coda, Poetry by Forrest Jamie

Thanks as always, WILDsound ❤

POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

 Genres: Breakup, Closure, Heartbreak, Love, Relationships, Romantic, The End

—-

Darling boy
I know how this story goes –
it’s ours, after all
and I could read it
with my eyes closed.
And why must re-reading those chapters
of our one-sided love story
hurt so good?

You said that
my coffee brown eyes felt like home,
but you’re the wandering kind
and so
the timing is all wrong.
You never stay (in one place)
for too long.

I’m an open book.
I give myself to you
anywhere
anytime
and every time,
you leave with another torn up page of me
but I couldn’t care less if I tried.

We will always be
my favourite
romantic tragedy.
 

 

 

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch…

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10 Days Until Surgery… Trying to Cope With Severe Anxiety

Yeah, guess how well the girl with severe anxiety and panic disorder is dealing with the fact that she’ll be having a fucking organ removed in 10 days?

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Not so much. At all.

As far as surgeries go, this is one of the more minor ones. I know that. Everyone is telling me this. But I already know and just repeating the same thing to me doesn’t help.

They ask what scares me about it – fucking everything. Hospitals in general, IV’s – two things I’ve encountered way too fucking often lately. What if I my anxiety gets too out of hand and I have a panic attack while they’re getting me ready to go under. I get dizzy and emotional, I can’t think properly therefore I can’t speak and say what’s wrong, and on a few occasions, I feel so faint that I actually pass out. Hell, maybe that’d work in my favour…

I was talking with my doctor today at an appointment, and pathetically typical me asked what if I wake up, to which she responds “That doesn’t happen anymore.” But it happened. Great.

Then there’s that whole bitch of a thing – being put to sleep. I’ve had to do it once before for my wisdom teeth – didn’t like it then, don’t like it now. It’s the most vulnerable state – a room full of strangers, an operating table. Some person controlling the drugs being pumped into you to make you sleep and others with scalpels and god knows what other medical shit to get the organ out. Also what the hell do they do with the organ? :/

Recovery. Pain. I can’t deal with the thought of having a fucking staple punched into me – knowing it’s there and then having it removed. Surgeons are often lazy – staples are quicker than stitches, doc says. But she’ll make a note about it, and she’ll be there to assist to help me feel more comfortable.

A few people have asked if I’m actually going to do it, have the surgery. They see the level of anxiety it’s causing that they’re actually asking.

I’m in pain. A lot of pain, everyday. It’s happening no matter how much I cry and bitch about it. I don’t want to have to take these pain meds every single day. I don’t want the decision to be taken away from me if it suddenly becomes an emergency.

I want it over with. I don’t want to go through it at all – but who does? I’m scared and I want it over with.

10 days.