Gorging on the sanctity of exhaustion
“happy” chemicals moving through limbs
tongues, fingers, eyes
free falling from reality
letting cares trespass outside
no longer penned up for close observation
their florescent desertion feels right.
The only way to feel calm
under course skin of palms
is to claim complete exhaustion
and sought after solitude
and understand how cliche it is
to be grateful
for such a damned thing.
She lies
Not in your bed
But to your face,
Of friendship and honor.
Spirals of ruin
Bleed from her center,
Blamed on holes from long ago.
But she
Doesn’t realize at night
She spins, arms outstretched,
And nails ragged,
Hoping to create a world
In Her image,
Instead of the world she wants.
Once, you were
Mesmerized by this
Flourish of limbs.
Her nails dug into your most
Tender places,
And still, she captivates you.
I sit, upon this stone,
And wait for you to return.
Recognize the pull of ego,
The push of pain.
When you return,
I lift your shirt to
Find the bruises,
Offer you healing space,
And let you unravel.
A dancer earns no
Company, if she can’t
Convince the audience.
A healer earns no
Patients, if she doesn’t
Understand the process.
*Freewrite, not yet edited. Mostly just processing.*
How long would it take you
to notice I was gone?
How badly would you
Want to speak at my funeral?
An opportunity for the thing
You always craved from me:
Attention.
One last chance,
Still never earned.
I was too easy for you all along
Or so you thought,
Until I decided that I
Wanted to receive as much
as I gave.
It would be ironic then,
If you spoke at my funeral,
Because just like now,
I’d have nothing more to offer you.
Putting a bunch of shorter Poems from various days into this post. A lot deal with anxiety.
2-26-18
Brushing my teeth
won’t remove the green
stains of jealousy
rotting my ability to
communicate. No, the
harshness of fear translates
ugly on the surface,
leaves others
with a prickly sensation.
Poor mental hygiene
is to blame.
12-23-17
Filtering thoughts
Overflow from work
Thrown headfirst
into a burst
of negativity
from all sides
no compromise
Christmas Time
and fielding lies
Finding truth
in only that
which matters to me.
Love divine
Irrational Signs
of cosmic symmetry
12-9-17
The barricades are rolling
up
over my toes and
up
around my ankles-
The prick of the wire
barbed and foreboding
makes me feel stuck
and I can’t
will myself to move
from this place
of fear.
1-?-18
Like the fox,
I won’t let you hurt me,
Not with your presence,
nor with your threats.
Instead I will watch
patiently, until you retreat.
Then I will tremble onward,
alone.
2-23-18
You.
An overdone sequence
of beginnings.
Declarations of intent
with no strength
to follow through.
Chewing on pens.
Later, later, later.
Why bother?
Reminders tacked to nuerons
firing yourself for trying.
Over before you started.
Begin again,
a bigger process
of learning to overcome
Nature
Nurture
(or lack thereof)
Summer-2017
I am the constant
swing of light
from day to night
I am the echoing
reverence of a silent church
My palms are flattened
from the support they offer.
I am enough to make
you wonder about.
Death becomes me
but I will not become death.
A removal of soul
beyond this physical realm.
My shoulders can dip
and shimmy into
outspread arms,
through valleys of truth,
the kind you spit out,
but doesn’t accept returns.
?-Summer-2017
I can walk you through battlefields from the confines of my memories,
A palm on your back to gently lead you around the landmines.
It is only later I will venture back alone
to talk to the ghosts there,
the figments of trust, love, nurturing, and safety,
and I will stroke their shimmering corporeal beings
in greeting.
We know one another too well,
and yet they still wonder why I continue to haunt the physical realm.
I remind them that they would not be visited if I ceased to lead
these new souls through their graveyards,
if I didn’t create plaques of poetry inspired by them.
They laugh,
because I don’t even believe me.
8-12-17
Living in a world of constant stimulation,
validation plugged into our fingers:
Tap, swipe, like, repeat:
We don’t make room for sunshine
and other necessary things.
The only way to conquer this constant pull is to
live with deprivation sometimes.
No outside inhalations.
Only those within.
Taking the time to sleep, organize, rifle through thoughts that have gathered.
If I let them all collect dust, the bunnies will outnumber my sanity.
?-?-2017
Anxiety is swirling around
the back of my throat
like a Bubble
Drowning
Cutthroat
the lining of my
vocal chambers
burn hollow
from the water in my lungs
Tongues
which have forced their
way into my
energy channels
Swimming upstream
Nightmare dreams
The desire to expel
but the lack of ability to tell
myself
how to accomplish this.
“You fuck me better than anyone else ever has. ”
She says,
And as instantly as my ego’s mouth
opens up to swallow the delicious words,
my heart pounds my chest
into a vulnerable cavity.
It recalls why it hurts
to hear these words,
even though my mouth has gone dry
with the thirst for them.
She has taken them away before.
Timing, age, hormone fluctuations:
there were always alternate explanations offered.
And while the subjective truth
is that it was likely
done for protection..
The sting remains.
Constantly doing the work to accept
my own feelings,
then being made to wonder
if I was just being
naive.
It is a curse at times
to read
others, and wonder whether their words will
find their body’s message.
Or if fear will prevent the delivery,
and suffocate the possibility.
Finally offered a drink in this heat,
my
tongue couldn’t figure out how to
swallow.
But I had already absorbed her into
my hollows.
Now, I sit and contemplate
fears we both harbor:
Her fear
whether my hunger
will outgrow her
ability to satiate.
My fear,
A sexual awakening of self
that could lead her backwards,
or perhaps forwards,
into this decade of desire.
Our fear,
that we become too significant to the other.
Our fear,
that the others passion,
is purely circumstantial.
Luckily,
There has been no denying
the strength of this connection.
It cannot be ignored.
It is too warm
to not take up space,
too obvious in the way my body melts,
too resilient in the way it fears
not taking this risk.
Active
Passion,
Love’s Purest Reaction.
We are both fucked.
Hands still shaking from
the way you fucked me,
I sit solemn,
staring across the room
at a platter
of Christmas cookies.
Inadequacy breathes down my neck,
Reflecting how
I faltered with rules
and temptations
Out of sync in sensation
Gagged by an inability
to express how I feel.
I kept it in, mouth shut,
But my body let it out
Bloody nose,
orgasmic flow,
tears falling
hot,
and unrelenting.
My body has learned to surrender,
While my mind has not.
It only accepts that sometimes
my body is weak.
And I benefit from it.
I’m cold,
but the heat is on,
I have words,
but you are gone.
The pillows, the blankets,
my fingers-
they smell like you.
But this poem
is for me.
…
Thanks to the person with whom I able to figure out these kinks in my own time, and my own way.. No pun intended. Okay, maybe a slight pun.. ❤
There is a different pain
in understanding
than there is
in blind anger.
Revenge and hatred
rob you of opportunities.
The keep you in limbo, smoldering..
But they also take the edge off
through distraction and action.
Understanding means
you must accept
double the pain.
You must drop to your knees,
you must offer your heart,
Be vulnerable to start
over
again.
There is no immediate-
no direct effect- of understanding
but perhaps humility.
It keeps you not in fire, but in grief.
Both can exist in the same body,
but often
this burns bridges before you can cross them,
Floats signals of smoke before you speak.
We are often trapped then,
to condemn ourselves,
to one or the other:
As the women who react,
or the woman
you can walk over
and away from.
Written from the point of view of a woman living in a world where our emotions are often trivialized, and our experiences minimized.
