I am Haunted (Spoken Word).

Call me haunted,

say that I used to

flaunt it so much that I didn’t

even know I had it.

I call it my secret,

for me to know,

for my friends to keep,

for my lover to sew into my skin.

It lies so deep below,

it appears every now and then,

I tell it to leave but it haunts me,

taunts me,

asks me why I ignore it.

My head feels so heavy with

the secret,

my secret,

but it is mine to keep,

to have restless sleep over,

to haunt me.

I am haunted,

I feel it when I move,

when I am disapproved by those

around me,

surrounded by misery,

hopeless daydreams,

songs of praise that seek the devil,

make the world seem bleak.

I have this secret,

it sticks to my heart and tears me


limb to limb,

some may even call it shitty


I heard that poets are dead inside,

ripped up and trashed,

their heart has been


dashed across screens,

showed to those around them.

A girl once told me her secret,

spread it from room to room,


destroyed her groom,

her secret caught up with her

so soon.

I am haunted,

I hear it in my dreams,

see it when I walk and hear it

in the dark.

I never know what to say,

how to act,

how do I even approach what happened

that day?

It scars me to today,

it beats me senseless,

makes me scream,

I don’t call them dreams anymore,

nightmares are what they seem.

It falls from the trees around me,

I can feel it in my chest,

a trapped bird ready to burst from its cage.

People must think I’m insane,

I think that too.

Grass is supposed to be green,

the sky is supposed to be blue,

but don’t listen to what they say.

I am haunted,

I am a destroyed soul,

but it is my secret to own,

it is my body that is no longer


I am haunted,

I scar myself most days,

I try to turn the page and re-write.

I use my pen as my knife,

paper as skin,

so thin that every word pains me

to stain.

I indent my past on myself,

I leave it to mark me,

but I never let the spark inside die.

I have a secret,

call it what you will,

call me what you think,

watch me sink so far that I drown.

I am haunted,

I write the ghosts of my past

constantly in my work,

I mould them into my own,

I make them my friends.

I am haunted,

my skin is so burned it no longer

hurts when I cry,

and I try to pray… I look to the sky.

I am haunted,

I am so far down I feel lost,

I don’t live the life you think I do,

it is glossed up through screens,


nothing is as it seems.

I am haunted,

but the bruises are my own,

the memories are scarred

on my skin,

I can find a way out.

I am lifted from my pain,

I express it with my words,

it may still hurt,

but things like this always do.

I am haunted,

don’t try to fix me,

or comfort me.

I confront my past,

gain from it,

accept it happened.

I have a secret,

it is mine to tell,

write about,

and no one else can take

that from me.


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