Flame to a Thought

The world cannot conquer what is mine
Mighty does it try
Landless, forlorn, adrift even
Driven beside myself
Cannot fathom the measures taken against me
No sense of solid ground

Stood upright
Only to be knocked upon my ass again
Boot to my skull
I shall not yield
Tis mine
Knuckle white grip
Bathed in dirt and tears
My spine only rises
The world does not desire to see my teeth
Keep pushing me
Teeth it shall see
That and more
Feathers become bullets
Air thickened with blood spray
And spoilt dreams
Ashes to the fierce wind
Some things should not die

Slid down the bathroom wall again
Fists clutched to my eyes
Do not make me into this beast
Tremble to a flicker
Flame to a thought
Lit up like fire in the night sky
Dust in the cluttered corners of my mind
Skeletal claws creep closed over my throat

Feathers become knives
Angels pray for death this night
Mist curls over all that’s mine
Nothing invites me inside
Somber dead eyes mourn my losses already
Though my grip still will not release
Barreling through every wall I resurrect
Flames and steam
Flesh and spleen
How dare I
Simple drop in time
Nothing more
Yet not less
Terminal echoes ticking by
Rust stains the teeth

Quarter past empty
Still I hold my stance
Invoked my wrath
Set upon this path,
Pathetic such recklessness
No guilt no shame they reach for what is mine
My thoughts shoot out like scythe laced lightening,
Always know my spirit haunts unto the ends of time
Into the places even they cannot survive

© Christina Nabity
Written September 10, 2011

Piece of Me

Roiling through my skull
Fierce, viral, abusing, contaminating
Echoes cleaved into screams
Militant fantasies emerge just as swiftly

Here I stand so still
The only tell a clenched fist
Unaccustomed to treachery
Despite fully knowing it's sting

Nowhere for it to go
In some other world
I've unleashed apocalyptic destruction
Pray it never ripples back

Skin crawling
Cold hatred takes form
Stalking ever forward
How it wants a piece of me

Lingering acid tastes
Comatose optimism
Dark shadows dance
Fire licking up the sides

A scream I mistook for mine
Shatters the silence of this night
Claws hastening to my throat
I merely give a little smile

© Christina Nabity
Written August 15, 2011

[7/5/2016 (last updated 3/7/2018) - In December 2012, someone said to me about this poem something like "wow a lot of self torture going on here" followed by a compliment.
So I feel the need to mention - I avoid engaging in self-torture as much as possible, poetry is an incredibly healthy outlet for dealing with emotional pain, grieving, life turmoil and even PTSD if you are handling it in a mindful and therapeutic way. It's weird when people put spins like that on my work or words, most artists or writers probably feel that weird about it. I do have severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (lots of it, and from multiple things, as multiple things have been very traumatic for me, and new traumas occur in my life). My poetic endeavors are not just a great writing exercise and warm-up, but also a way to cope with everything I have been through and go through converting it into creative energy in a very healing way. Best believe any time I catch my PTSD trying to initiate a self-torture session or even just trying to initiate rumination, I do everything in my power to gently ease the flashbacks off my "nuts" and cut the ruminating off at the kneecaps (as the rumination is directly initiated by the flashbacks). Actively engaging in self-torture is VERY different than suffering from severe PTSD and seeking means to heal and  disarm the horrors involved in having PTSD, as it is the damage from the trauma initiating extreme emotional pain and the trigger & initialization stage of it is not self torture, self torture would start somewhere after the mechanics of the mind initiate the rumination sequence if the person does not or cannot find a way to disarm the sequence at the right time, and sometimes even then if you have PTSD and can't figure out how to disarm it once it has sprung up on you it still would not necessarily delve into self-torture territory. And certainly it is not self- torture to experience fresh trauma in a new moment that is traumatizing you, which in turn deepens existing trauma from prior instances of being traumatized by something,
I have always been a mindful person with a solid memory, very spiritual, & I absolutely do not shy away from painful memories when they pop in as flashbacks as I have learned the only way I can heal from the traumas I've been through is to face them & examine them  and allow myself to have genuine honest emotions then ask myself what it is trying to point out to me or teach me in springing up on me just then and also then use it for fuel for my writing & art, then push it into creative outlets in a healing process.

Honestly, I don't really understand people, as I only have inside my head and the way they treat me and interact with me and where I can see pieces of it, and reflections of life in various types of on screen and written depictions of others to go by. And it does turn out I'm on the autism spectrum, officially put in my paperwork as a diagnosis around May 2016 but there from birth, and was suspected for over a decade before it was . Do people do self torture a lot? I don't really understand this concept of self-torture to any significant degree beyond what I can disseminate as a writer type person. Do they hide from the bad memories instead of stare them down when they show up uninvited? That does seem to be the message people are giving me.

This poem is about very real traumatizing events in my life and my refusal to surrender my spirit to it, because I am not a victim despite having been through some real hell, I am a warrior. I have always been a warrior. As a warrior I have the wisdom to know I am not allowed to simply skullpunch everyone who is traumatizing me, cuz the laws in this country are set up to protect, well frankly, people who aren't me, a very unique individual. This poem is about perseverance in the face of opposition, about smothered innocence, and about the things that the imagination unleashes out into the ether bound to take form somewhere regardless of kind intent.]

Tired Remorse

Filter through the lies
Stand amidst the fallen
For no other footing is solid
Gentle ache
Splintered dreams
And Pale moments
Scream and cry

Cold slivers of madness
Nightmares as I sleep
Awake drowning in my own sweat
And the worst regrets as a knife
Twisting through my eye
Eyes I sometimes wish were blind
Lost and slight
Weak fevered whispers
Denials of the worst truths

Pictures in flame
Still not enough to erase
Am I the lowly traitor?
Drown me, sweet Mnemosyne
Shall I fade away?
Symptoms of a lost mind
Glimmers of a time
Before the damage had been done
So haunting, lilting tremors
If I could but be a bit like that girl again

Unravel at such a sight
Though only within a memory...

© Christina Nabity
Written August 9, 2011

Bled into the Daylight

Hidden darkness the tides cannot overturn
Liquid screams entice the madmen
Come to claim a bit of the night
Surrender your dreams
And kneel before the mad queen

Mind torn raw
Hands do squeeze
Innocence murdered
What it took away
I can never forgive
Wilted into the shadows
Bled into the daylight

Candlelight vigils do not replace
Grief stains my heart
Stolen comforts chip away
Moments drip unreal
Time escapes
Regrets arise and claw

Bathe me in slumber
Or wake me from the reveries

© Christina Nabity
Written July 20, 2011

Mad Precision

In madness,
Such delight,
Imagine freedom and belie fate-
Such shock;
Scold and toil,
A forbidden sound, softer than silence
Mutilate my turmoil,
Write it off as an expense,
Such casual casualties;
Know mysterious truths,
Cold indemnities,
Scorn chatterings,
And teeth detach,
Leaving more than bite marks;
Courage pale friend
The end can't be far behind,
It's only a circle within a sphere
Mend your tears,
Sanity’s a delusion of sorts anyhow.

© Christina Nabity
Written February 19, 2011

Believe it or not this is the result of not being able to come up with a proper status update for my Facebook page.

Sacrilegion

Only when I'm gone
Can I find me
Engulfed in flame
Extinguished never
Move to flicker
Waver shift and wobble
Desire for you
Shimmers under my skin,
My shattered heart
Thrown away
Stabbed it dead
Flicker to inferno
Inner scream pours forth
Gentle wind then soothes
Flowering in the shell
A sacred heart
That they can't touch
Dreams of a beauty
They cannot grasp.

© Christina Nabity
Written March 25, 2003

This is just one of those goth like poems I wrote during a bit of madness. Madness, it tried me on like a hat a few times for sure. Only way to find out just how sane I truly am, which much to my relief, is as sane as a person gets.

Hard But Softly

Lulling me to sleep
I hear his voice still
So many questions
So many tears
Was it love or ego?
This will never leave me
By stigmata I now am marked-
She did something wrong
But doesn't know how,
Crying hard but softly
This will never leave me
I hear his voice so strong
Evidence to suggest it's not
All some twisted fantasy
But they'll never see
They'll never believe;
Can I sleep some more?

© Christina Nabity
Written: October 20, 2003.

This was not about someone I knew & there's a rather complicated story behind this, one I don't like to talk about. I submitted this to poetry.com in September 2005, apparently they published it in a book of poetry and recorded it on a CD as well, that was my understanding according to the mail they sent me. This was before Lulu acquired that site, I do believe. So woohoo this poem made me a published author! Only thing I ever submitted for publishing so far, too.

Already Been

I am so misplaced in this
Ruining me in ways you'll never know
I return yet again
All reasoning lost
My emptiness fed upon
A tiny sliver of hope
And my skin does peel,
Traveling where I've already been
And now they tell me to kneel
Somehow this gives me power
Sinister strength gurgling below the surface