I feel my body getting smaller
inch by inch my stomach recedes
away from dining tables and dinner plates
away away away
from food and water and vitamins
These tangible torturous things
but keep me alive
& force me into
the sweetest relinquished relief
The need to write wakes me up in the night
Thoughts ricochet off of dreams, memories
Lucidity. Superego runs wild
Translucent clarity breeds vivacity.
Sharp focus without bifocal lenses
Breath trembles on cotton pillowcases
Merging the conscious with the imagined
Past tears and traumas dominate this realm
Phallic fantasies frolic in my mind
Freeing pain but concealing its power
Reminiscing during REM Cycles.
Courage is getting out of bed when the voices in my head scream louder than the sound of my beating heart.
Courage is stomaching two anxiety pills and one SSRI before getting out of bed even though my father thinks I’m a drug addict.
Courage is letting go of something comfortable in order to pursue something that sets my soul on fire.
Courage is the heart-wrenching strength to go on when it feels like everything is going wrong.
I’ve reached the point in my relationship where I’m uncomfortable enough to write again. Poetry flows out of my pens like tears from my eyes, and I’m not sure how to feel.
Does anyone else get writer’s block from being too content in life?
Everyone loves to see my smile
so big, beautiful, infectious
magnetic and genuine
but the world can only see
all that I pretend to be.
It seems we all get caught up
in appearances, distanced from reality.
The real me is always an arms-length away.
And I like it that way.
I keep it that way.
Keeping you farther and farther
from my pain before I implode
with no more warning than my trembling lips and fingertips signing for help while they push you away,
crying for comfort but begging for space.
I fret you won’t understand
this brokenness as I lie in a broken mess
of tears and bleeding wrists inflicted from a sharp tongue,
and sharper voices in my mind cutting deeper into the wells of insecurity.
My own hands dig deeper into flesh searching my veins for happiness.
via Daily Prompt: Fret
What does it mean to love?
Is it a noun or is it a verb?
Is it a feeling, anything more than just a word?
For years I mused what the essence of love could possibly mean.
I’ve heard that it can make you feel as royal as the queen
As high as a kite
As if you lie on cloud nine.
I thought love was possession,
But I learned my lesson when the man I thought I loved didn’t respect my discretion.
Love became an interjection to the usual direction of my life, a lesson I was not ready to learn. I became afraid to love.
Unchained from all the pain n insecurity
Hurt and dependency
Release of all feelings that do not serve my higher destiny
+ restrict passion
+ entrap my soul.
Taking back my compassion from undeserving souls
I poured so much into others that there was not enough left in me to provide peace
My inner being in a state of stagnant toxicity
So I searched for love externally.
Divin’ into my destiny (FREEDOM) & pourin’ my love into my heart
It is here that I am healing
Balancing my aura, refocusing my energy
aligning these nouns and verbs with their higher purpose
Ascension to another dimension free of tensions present in this futile life.
No longer complacent ➡️ reactionary
Instead of letting the universe do unto me
I harness the energy of the Sun & bathe my soul in her heat