Friday, July 21, 2017


How to explain depression to one who has no idea what it is like to suffer from it?

No matter how much one claims to "have a will to live," and know that committing suicide will hurt the ones who love them, and know that they ultimately do not want to end their life, pessimistic thoughts have a way of sneaking in. They yearn for happiness. They yearn for the dark days to no longer tag-a-long and follow. They yearn to smile and genuinely carry it with them, without it disappearing two seconds later for no apparent reason. 

That is merely a form I am familiar with--a short version.

It is upsetting--triggering--when others (especially idols or inspirations, or even total strangers) give in to their depression and take their lives. (Or even shows like 13 Reasons Why). It is truly difficult to put it into words, but I will explain the feeling like this:

Imagine you are in a long line. At the beginning of the line is the edge of a cliff. You are watching others take their steps off of it one by one. You are further down the line, but you are just watching, weaving your head over others to see how close you are getting to the same fate.

Hearing about another take their life from depression steals your own hope at times. It makes you wonder, "Well, I am strong for now and today, at this moment, but will I end up with the same fate eventually?" 

I take each loss of life that could have been spared personal. 

I personally look to others suffering from depression and root for them to prosper as my own source of motivation at times. When they take that permanent leap, I feel the loss of someone who knew exactly how I can feel at times, even though, ironically, most people who suffer from depression never tend to feel as if anyone understands what they are feeling. 

One of my main goals in life is to rid of the negative connotations associated with depression and other mental illnesses. It is the manner in which most of these things are deemed taboo (or speaking about them is deemed taboo) that lead to more losses and tragedies. 

An individual should never be ignored, nor should they be made to feel ashamed for their condition. 

Being ashamed keeps many from reaching out for help.

I had the great opportunity to interview people and write a piece about depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses for Talisman's blog site, and in it, I spoke about some ways in which people fight through their conditions. I cannot link it for ownership reasons, but everyone has their own way of continuing to roll out of bed each day; whatever way works for an individual, they should follow. (Ideally, of course, a healthy manner).

Some take medication, which sometimes works and sometimes does not. And some, like me, self-medicate. This involves a multitude of things/rituals such as: focusing on family & friends, speaking to them about my down times (being open, honest), focus on myself--away from others/distractions.

And it is not as if it ever stops. It is like a wheel that keeps going, or you have to find the strength to keep getting that wheel to spin.

I really do not believe there is any wrong or right way to cope (as long as you are not a harm to yourself or others), but the main thing is that the depression is faced and dealt with.

I only hope that as uncomfortable as the conversation may be, that more people open up to it.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Words Unsaid

"So here's my idea: let's all stop being little fucks. Respect other people enough to tell them the truth. If someone makes you happy, tell them. If someone inspires you, tell them. If you're not interested in someone, please just fucking tell them. Don't ignore people until they disappear. It's time we grow up and stop leaving people hanging with unanswered texts and cryptic social media posts. Everyone is human and we're all just trying to understand one another in this messy dating world, so stop treating a relationship of any kind like it’s a challenge to complete. Be honest with other people about how you feel and don't get so lost in playing the game that you forget to extend that same courtesy to yourself." - Unknown

I read this in an article a while back and screen shot it. My heart was on fire (a good one) after reading the article, but especially the passage above. 

The fire in my heart was a tad conflicted, however. For I have been guilty of falling off the face of earth in my past, and I have not forgotten it. It was much easier than confronting the person, saying that "I cannot see a future with you," "I am talking to someone else and would really like to give things a try with them," and etc. And those would have been the exact phrases out of my mouth. I tend to sugarcoat nada when I am being honest. But it is never to be rude, and I do not mind the same to be said in return to me. That saying: treat others the way you want to be treated--that is my motto. So I truly try to stand by it, aware that the same words can be spoken to me. Yeah, the words might hurt for a moment, but at least they are being honest. I can respect honesty. Not telling half-truths or lying. Or pretending.

For over a year, though, the passage has been precisely how I try to carry myself--honest, baring and communicative to the best of my ability.

Is it easy?

Hell no.

But is it vital?

I would say so. Without a doubt.

In my twenty-two years of life, I have come to find that communication is key. It is not only vital for relationships (romantic), but friendships, work places--everything. One lack of communication can lead to a chain of misunderstandings. Me, personally, it is only frustrating and more work to have to "go back in time" and try to explain this and that, when it could have been hashed out the second it came to be. Or a clear realization happened. 

But I am gradually learning, that is typically merely me.

I do not think many see how much guts it takes for a person to speak their mind or share their thoughts sometimes. In all honesty, it can be downright fearful at times. 

"When I am afraid to speak is when I speak. That is when it is most important." - Nayyirah Waheed

I allow that quote to resonate with me each and every time I fret speaking my mind--every time I fret writing that blog or this blog, or anything to do with my writings that may be made public.

This blog, I do not share easily. My mind, I do not share easily. I used to never let anyone in out of fear-- fear of what others would think of me, how I would come off. It was only through another person's bravery that I felt brave enough to share my stories, thoughts and feelings in hopes that I could reach others just like me and not like me. 

I do not believe communication should be any different.

I am not saying go tell the whole world your life story or just anyone. Some people will never deserve to know you, because they are only there to steal you away. Not add. 

Again, the honesty is not to be rude or downright hateful. A difference in tone and demeanor speaks wonders to get honest words across.

But just be honest. 

Relieve the stress of "egg shell walking."

And if that puts you in a place you might not have foreseen or that you did not truly want, move along knowing that at least you held nothing back and got out what you wanted to truly say.

I will always choose to leave this earth with no important words unsaid than to take them to the grave with me.

Monday, July 10, 2017

The Will

The Will
By Shaire Blythe

Monday, July 10, 2017

I found I have the will to live.
When the moment hit me, I was reminded of this documentary I watched called The Bridge.
When I stumbled upon it, I wasn't quite aware of the footage it obtained. That was until a seemingly quiet, beautiful view of San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge turned into a jumping ledge for a man, just a normal-looking man, and depicted his end.
I remember being completely stunned. A catatonic state.
I fought against picking some other documentary to watch and my strong desire to know what story the filmmakers were wanting to tell. 
I fought back tears, continuing to watch.
I thought of the fear those people must have held for those seconds of making the decision and drifting into a body of water that held unknown futures for them.
I felt that fear creeping in me with the thought that there was no way I could ever do that; that route was terrifying.
But I guess the story that really stuck with me were the survivors. 
A man spoke of his regret as he rushed toward the chilling water, mid-air.
He was regretful the second he made the decision. 
When I found the will to live, I hadn't made a decision. 
My fate landed in the mishap of my wheel hitting a slick spot on I-65 South bound.
I had dreamed of me losing control behind a wheel. 
I had dreamed of the car I was in spinning out of control just weeks before, only I was a passenger. Not the driver. 
I never figured out how my dream was supposed to end.
I woke myself up before I could find out.
I didn't want to know.
But I knew what regret the survivor from the bridge was talking about.
At least, I came to know it those few seconds my car glided across those lanes, open season and a vehicular weapon to oncoming traffic.
It wasn't regret of what I hadn't done or had.
It was regret that I didn't even know at the time that I would have; it was all subconsciously.
Me pulling the steering wheel and watching out my driver's side window so I could brace myself for the impact of a school bus was so that I could live and prevent from wiping anyone else out with me.
I know I'll keep asking myself how and why did I survive.
I'll keep asking how was it possible to veer across five lanes and not be struck, or for me to not have struck anyone else. 
I'll keep asking, though the answers are clear.
It was no one but God, and He must not be through with me yet.
I hope this can forever serve, no matter how dark my days can become, as a reminder that I do have a will to live. And anyone else out there that feels like ever giving up, continue to fight.

Sunday, July 9, 2017

Self-Seeking Restoration

Self-Seeking Restoration
By Shaire Blythe

I toss and turn, to blazing beams of what hurts,
fragile skin cannot capture comfort,
with emblazoned doubt, I cannot seek the words.
Firm in the past of trauma,
I never learn.
I open my eyes just to return.
Deep formulas I have to regain, no other way.
I have come to swerve in other lanes,
avoiding the collision course for today.
Once tried, to die, to live again.
Released the steering wheel, shut eyes, said amen.
Selfish hearts knows how to reign forever.
Give in to losses and their rainy weather.
Stress, gets no better, lost the treasure, persona.
Perfect face to hide, delude to be stronger.
Sunrise, depression can't be denied.
Tangled brain remains, I must refrain to take flight.

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Where We Go, We Follow

Where We Go, We Follow
By Shaire Blythe

Greed has come to mean sleeping on wastelands--
clawing at diamonds to end up with rocks.
Swayed to abandon any promises--
only in dire times, we look to the cross.

Knowledge steadily seeming to expand--
toss quotes to get our sanity across.
Incidents prove what we don't understand--
we unseal the door to our own chaos.

Take the time to truly seek what's missing,
stop wandering alongside the lost crowd.
An end needs to be put to the drifting.

Once we reshape the lies that we've allowed,
our emotions will be more than fleeting.
We'll become serious about our vows.

Monday, May 8, 2017

What Cannot Be Understood

What Cannot Be Understood

By Shaire Blythe

Fire me into the burning skies, sooted in coal dust.

Watch me soar, a radiant glow and continue
even as the blackness becomes consuming.

Back on earth, I must light the candle to see

what I’m fighting for, or turn on
the light when dusk approaches.

I’ve heard pathways have a track
that leads to predetermined fates.
We have the choice to water the seeds
planted along the side or let the itty-bitty
sprouts remain buried under soiled dirt.
Not even the water that trickles
from the clouds, like spewed out
diamonds can breach the shell,
propelling flowers to bloom.

I track the crumbs left for me to devour
and fire the hands that know no callouses.
For they only misunderstand my hunger
to be enlightened and meditate with Buddha in Zen gardens.

Most seem to bench thoughts before their advancement,
swerving to avoid blows of gods and goddesses.
They are the ones who moon the passerby
in the daylight screaming “Fuck this,” ‘cause fuck it.
Some might find themselves in handcuffs
being pushed to trial, but they’ll show
the consequence isn’t what was expected—
if any consequence at all.

If the moon had all five senses, it would chuckle
out a jolly laugh along with the beat of my own.
It would see a lonely bench in the park
next to the thicket of woods lost to some and loved by others—
a perfect location to be given a trial,
a snippet of releasing my sorrows of breathing.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

The Root from Which Wives Came

The Root from Which Wives Came

By Shaire Blythe

The root from which wives came is more than a thousand "I love yous" on a single page contorted to avoid the collision of o's with u's, yet still finding that not every aversion can be missed.

Such things leave behind the remnants of crimson dust leading to a point that becomes a blur with the passing of one—four year anniversaries and necks within the loop of nooses.

They could've killed the wives.

Eyes veiny, reaching out in desperate pleas to be released,
no words to choke out. Even if they could've, an answer to a call had the capacity to mosey by fellow ears, tuned out to the screams between bedroom walls.

Mothers before applied the permanent solution—boys will be boys.
Boys will wrestle in the dirt, letting the gooeyness spoil their ripped jeans and crust in their hair.
They'll reach for their toy guns and point them in girls' faces screaming, "Stop right there, or I'll shoot."
Wives have to be quiet upstairs while they listen to another wife being torn limb to limb downstairs.
It's okay—it's what must be done.

Rooms are rearranged and brightened to keep the air from being stale, masking a vault from itself.
But the wives will always be given a solid reason to wear black.
Their hoarse voices don't align with the silent declaration, "Just do it, just fucking end me already" as fists draw back and land on destinations meant to be sacred.

Wives envision dancing a warrior's dance, feet pounding in the dirt. But visions are more frequent than actions, because they might've creeped to the first drawer in the kitchen by now and introduced the steak blade to hairy chests.

Wives minds rattles in conscious argument, when husbands pull back in disgust after caressing their faces just a minute ago, declaring there could never be another.
It was the dress this time—it's above the knee.
It's the breasts poking out of the top of a V-neck. Some turtleneck must be better or a wool jacket on a seventy-five-degree day.

Rita Hayworth with her long glove-covered arms and black dress contouring to each hip bone and lumps of mounded flesh must have really gotten it worse then.
Her hips on the dance floor had swayed, dipped and grinded at the amusement of Glenn Ford, as long as no one else was around to see.

Wives want to release a blast of a belch out of them, hard like a familiar fist to level the playing ground of torture.
Rage is one house visit away from the next one and the next one.
Girl scouts could go down a whole block and find wives behind doors seemingly open, but closed to the public.

Wives want to warn them to leave the block and never look back. Take their cookies with them. See the pain in dead irises and do whatever you have to to never end up on the block again.

Wives hope the girl scouts would firmly turn, fixing their eyes on the horizon, their cookies trailing behind in a cart.
The girl scouts' souls might be mad for today, but they would thank the wives later.


Roots from which wives came--
more than a thousand "I love yous" on a single page,
contorted to avoid collisions of o's with u's, 
yet sill finding not every aversion can be missed.

Remnants of crimson dust are left behind,
leading to points that become a blur.
One--four year anniversaries pass with time,
and necks hang within the loop of nooses.

They could've killed the wives.

Eyes bulging out in desperate pleas--
no words to choke out. 
If they could've, an answer to a call knew how to mosey right on by, 
tuned out to screams between bedroom walls.

Mothers before applied the classical tune--boys will be boys.

Boys will wrestle in the dirt,
the gooeyness spoiling ripped jeans and crusting in their hair.
They'll reach for toy guns, point them in girls' faces screaming, 
"Stop right there, or I'll shoot."

Wives are quiet upstairs, 
listening to other wives being torn limb to limb downstairs.
It's okay--it must be done.

Rooms are rearranged, brightened to keep the air from being stale, masking a vault from itself.
But the wives will always be given a solid reason to wear black.
Their hoarse voices can't align with silent declarations, 
"Just do it, just fucking end me already" 
as fists draw back, land on sacred destinations.

Wives envision dancing a warrior's dance, 
feet pounding in the dirt.
But visions are more frequent than actions--
none have crept to the first drawer in the kitchen,
introducing the steak blade to hairy chests.

Wives minds rattle in conscious argument, 
as husbands pull back in disgust.
It was the dress--it's above the knee.
It's the wives breasts poking out of the top of her V-neck. 
Turtlenecks must be better on a seventy-five degree day.

Rita Hayworth with her long glove-covered arms,
black dress contouring to hip bones and lumps of mounded flesh 
must have gotten it worse.
Her hips had swayed on the dance floor, 
dipped and grinded at the amusement of Glenn Ford.

As long as no one else was around to see.

Wives want to release a blast of a belch, 
hard like a familiar fist to level the playing ground of torture. 
Rage is one house visit away from the next.
Girl scouts could go down a whole block, 
find wives behind doors seemingly open.

Wives want to warn them to leave the block--
take their cookies with them. 
See the pain in dead irises,
do whatever to never end up on the block again.

The wives hope the girl scouts would firmly turn, 
fixing their eyes on the horizon, cookies trailing behind in a cart.
The girl scouts' souls might be mad for today, 
but they would thank the wives later.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Jumping From The Pier

Jumping from the Pier

By Shaire Blythe
February 13, 2017

Lightning flashes across the night sky
like the purple heavens are crashing down around us;
but locked tight into your embrace,
my mind has been put at ease.

Panama's sand sinks underneath
the weight of our feet,
and the turbulence of dark
waters caress the shore.

I'd never known a breeze to
be crisp and cuddly, and
maybe I enjoy its hold more
than what your arms
are capable of.

Evoking those hidden tendencies
of your eyes widening in fear
and prepping your fist to impact
your chipped walls has never
been my intention.

So just for this moment,
I will laugh from my gut and carry
us into the silent storm,
stealing a glance over my shoulder
at the candlelit pier we started from.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Say It

Say It

By Shaire Blythe
Saturday, April 22, 2017

Say it, whatever it is you must release
Forget my feelings, they're gonna be damaged anyway
I'm just over the waiting for you to make your move, the one we know is coming
Testing me out, to see how far I'll let your game go
You're better off leaving me alone
There's plenty of others out there, we know, that will be down
I just can't see the same way, not anymore

Cause once you see, you can't unsee
Once that shit gets to your soul, you realize what's not needed
Tired of all the stressing, making us complicated
Say that I'm complicated, when I could care less if you hate me,
Just say it

And I'll be gone
A blemish on your charts that strive for perfection
I don't know perfection
I know the constant changes
I know the love for the moment
I know the men pretending
I know what it means to be manipulated

Still given the benefit of the doubt
Fuck the ones I started off with in the beginning
I'm just trying to see if I can ride for you
Trying to see what puts you in your moods
My bad for communicating
Guess I should just jump to conclusions
Blame me when we have to face the music
Usually I would just take the blows with the confusion,
I can't anymore

Cause once you see, you can't unsee
Once that shit gets to your soul, you realize what's not needed
Tired of all the stressing, making us complicated
Say that I'm complicated, when I could care less if you hate me,
Just say it

At least you would be honest
Putting on these faces when I just want honesty
Didn't know it was so much to ask for
Thought that not hiding would give the greatest release
Guess we don’t see the same

Cause once you see, you can't unsee
Once that shit gets to your soul, you realize what's not needed
Tired of all the stressing, making us complicated
Say that I'm complicated, when I could care less if you hate me,
Just say it

Friday, April 21, 2017

Never Hurts

Never Hurts

By Shaire Blythe
Monday, March 3, 2017

You know, darling
I told you so

Don't forget about me
I'll be waiting

It's been a long, long time
Tried to get you out my mind
But I've been deprived

If you really knew how much I tried,
Tried to be the good girl
But you make me wanna lose her
And never return

If they come to save me
They only would hurt themselves
My whole world is changing
But this never hurts
No, it never hurts me

Give it to me one more time,
You know what I want

No need for a disguise
We're on the same level

These other guys come in and out my life
I have no expectations
But you have my world shaking
I won't let you know, but I know it shows

These fortified walls could all come crashing down
One single touch, one single look
I really don't want to stick around
I don't wanna witness our disaster

Tuesday, April 4, 2017



By Shaire Blythe
February 20, 2017

A child lives in his own sandcastle along crested waves
that come to life each time dawn emerges
from the edge of the blue expanse,
and he drags out stars and coral fish,
whispering, "What shall I do with you?"

He lets the creatures free, to roam the waters that sing
sweet lullabies of treasures buried and lost
at the hands of mystified explorers who had calmly
stroked their beards, smelling of greasy layers of six month filth.

Delicate breasts had once known the comfort of the child,
swaying him as the seagulls elegantly soared above,
circling a temporary spot as they waited for him
to rise to his feet and inch closer to the sea.

Waves tickled the tip of his toes and
he had stopped, uncertain about how far was enough,
and no one had cried out that seagulls weren't to be trusted
and to linger on the sand was a safe haven.

A child lives in his own sandcastle along the crested waves,
that cannot be seen by the eyes of the bikini-clad beachgoers
and stationed lifeguards in wooden towers,
only coming to life each time dawn emerges.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Collected Silhouettes

Collected Silhouettes

By Shaire Blythe
March 1, 2017

I shiver from the lies that trip from his lips, spilling like honey from his tongue, and I'm left alone in this narrow cavern of madness. Silhouettes prey among the walls, my bones are warped, insecure--and all I require are his arms to brace me for the splatter of my body against jagged boulders that await below--but how insane of me, because I am forced into my own straightjacket, rocking back and forth, knowing that another will soon accompany me while he saunters away, daintily whistling to the tune of his own voices that prey upon the girls who drop change to the homeless men under the awning of corner stores and gently cradle his head into her chest as he braces to flip a chair, irrationally cursing at a criticism he cannot bear to hear--but he only takes his collection to the shadows after the phone calls made just to hear their voice and sweet kisses on the forehead to feign rationality that was never there.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Fall In Line

Fall In Line

By Shaire Blythe
Monday, March 27, 2017

I've learned we're all looking for that one thing,
Bound to get it one way or another
Even if it's just for a moment,
Still gotta have that something
Whatever it may be
Whatever it may lead to

Jumping from one train to another
You don't really mean it when you say you know how to be alone
Even sometimes I get tired of being ghost
Power to drive the sanest insane
Make 'em take up different faces
But they'll come back to the same place

A cycle maybe we can or cannot see
Really, we're not as different as we claim
Did some shit that made you hurt
Next one come, roles are reversed
Tell ourselves it's all for the better
Outrun our pasts to sometimes go back
Are there changes?

I guess it's a matter of time
For us to fall in line
I just pray I find a peace of mind
Everyone deserves not to live a lie
Everyone deserves what they refuse to see
A love never-ending

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Game of Crazy

Game of Crazy

By Shaire Blythe
March 19, 2017

Too bad you was Brown, I was Rihanna
Destroyed a picture perfect,
So young, carefree
I put all my trust in you
And look at what you do
There's no getting through
No getting through

The ups and downs
They were never worth it
Twisting words around
Played the game of crazy
But not anymore
Fighting a losing battle
No longer torn
I see who you really are

Damn you were good, you knew just how to catch me
Realest one I'd known, so it seemed
Catching all my weaknesses,
Had to toy with them
I would say I'm through, then run back to you

Even with the scars on my heart, I can view a gentle man
More than playing a part, to get the benefits you can
But we weren't going nowhere
We still are hopeless
No we're not going nowhere
I always make sure of it

Would've given my last breath
You made it where I couldn't
War after war, you let me see I shouldn't
Play the game of crazy

Ten Streams

Ten Streams

By Shaire Blythe
Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The waters went deep
I lost everything
So it seemed

I passed ten streams
They never meant anything to me

Can they ever?
Will they?
No forever
Nothing true
I still feel the rain

The waters play tricks
I sunk beneath

The waters keeps secrets
I will never tell a soul

I walked ten streams
They could've meant something to me

Maybe I'll reach my destination
Won't be having same conversation
I don't know

One thing about all these waters
Something that I never thought of
They'll live on

And so will I

No forever
Nothing true
I still feel the rain
Time to time, the pain of ten streams

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Lust & Love

Lust & Love

By Shaire Blythe
February 6, 2016

Fall in love, on the outside
Let's give it a try, give it a try
Rotten to the core, on the inside
I don't mind, I'm a savior
I can switch you up, cloaked in red love

Brain and heart has no connect
Not even included in the sex
Block all thoughts and emotions, floating on what's displayed before me
I adore you

And let us do it over again
Guarantee that we won't meet our end
Do it over again
The only way to numb the pain
Or is it?

Seems like more than a moment
Make it out like it's harmless
I don't wanna think about it
Let me drink up out it

Caught up in confusion
Man, I'm losing it
Let me put some distance here
I'll get back to you when I can