Tag Archives: diary

I see what you did there.
Now, that I am in the clear,
But then, I couldn’t see past my tears.
The pain had created a wall,
In between my anxiety and reason,
Closing any backdoor to gain insight
To what you could clearly see,
But I trusted you blindly,
Even if that meant I was running into mirrors.

If I had still been there now,
It just seems implausible,
Like a chapter that doesn’t flow
With the rest of my story,
To be analyzed for eternity for its existence.
You saw where it would all go wrong,
So instead,
You decided to rip out my heart six chapters early.
No anesthesia or scalpel.

Small waves still wash over the scar
That was left by your hand,
As if you panicked mid scene,
Suddenly aware of the time line,
A car heading into oncoming traffic,
The only thought was to put it to a halt,
You reached into the spine,
Pulling at the true beat of the story,
The melody was fading.

It needed a refresher,
A course in Who Am I 101,
I was at a standstill,
I couldn’t move from A to B,
A malfunction in the wiring,
Looping back around to the starting point,
The part was good,
But it didn’t know how to be selfish,
It needed to learn to request new elements.

So I see what you did there,
You saved me.
I would have been too fargone,
Lost completely to a world,
Where I want to accompany the melody,
My story is flowing at full speed,
I know my purpose.
I forgive you for ripping me apart,
The pain now just a reminder.

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For Her

My lord,

I’m praying again.

You must be tired of my voice

But please,

I wouldn’t waste your time,

It is for her. 

These prayers are all I have,

I’m getting lost trying to help,

Please. 

You could bring her so much comfort,

So strong and positive, 

She will use every last breath to fight,

But hasn’t she fought enough?

Trial after trial, 

She needs a vacation from trying to survive, 

So she can desperately live

On the other side of the glass window.

It’s a waste for people to not see her soul,

To keep something so beautiful locked up, 

I have witnesses who can attest to her character,

But you should know her well, 

She is filled with your light, 

aching so badly to shine.

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What Was Needed-updated

My Mom says I have a look,
She can see every emotion behind my eyes,
As if there is a movie playing on the walls,
But she didn’t get the invite.
So she watches as a bystander,
Helpless to the thoughts that churn in my head.

I tossed and turned as my nightmares broke through the mirror,
So used to filling the cracks with ink,
Constantly making touch ups until the scenarios become clear,
Until I can make sense of the reality,
A tortured soul lays bruised and bleeding,
Gasping for a breath of virtue.

Reality has turned itself into a padded cell.
I sat in a great common room,
Indian style, hands in my lap.
Wait for the roar that does not come,
Visitors don’t come and go, food does not slide under the door,
Just the silence and the glass on the floor.

Six months:
of no words
of no therapy
of guilt, pain, and confusion
of stab after stab after stab
of darkness.

Drowning,
A new sensation to master.
A notebook and pen my deserted sidekicks.
I was lost without their guidance,
The medicine they produced,
Pushed the water from my lungs so I could float back to the surface.

My lungs heavy,
I was falling and I couldn’t see tomorrow.
My thoughts were frozen in a forever loop,
In the Starbucks line, during my favorite show,
The face that my mother talks about,
Becoming a permanent fixture,
My eyes, the doors to an internal war.

I was gliding through my days when
I noticed a hand print on my shoulder,
In a mirror, I glanced at a pair of hands on my back,
on my chest, another on my wrist,
And the fingerprints woven with words from familiar voices,
Doing the job that I thought only my poetry could do,
Keeping my head above water.

The owners gave encouraging smiles,
Laughs that made my face break character,
Text messages to make sure I was eating,
And when I couldn’t see past the darkness,
They built a campfire in my bedroom,
So at night when I awoke from the nightmares,
I could see their messages of hope on the ceiling.

I leaned on those hands for support until I was swimming,
Full force in open water, no longer weary of unspoken dangers,
Towards any shoreline that could be my new destination,
My anxiety turned into rustling leaves in the bottom of my stomach,
My mother no longer asked what I was watching on the walls,
The darkness now just a scar on my heart,
Six months for it to turn from my present to my past.

I now know what it means to have more than my four walls,
To have more than the words that I wrote down for my sanity,
But my heart still soars while I’m drinking my morning coffee,
A familiar feeling of a fleeting metaphor flies in my mind,
I smile, allowing the words to simmer on the edge of my conscious,
I might get light headed if I move to quickly,
So happy to show them what I have learned in their absence.

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No Control

This feeling isn’t new.
It’s like a skydiver has taken my heart as a parachute.
Free falling.
My heart holding on as it folds into itself,
Against the pressure of the wind and the view,
The ground growing closer,
Dots becoming shapes,
Shades of green and brown
Turning into backyards and farms.
When is the cord going to be pulled?
When is the relief going to come?
So that I know that my heart
Isn’t going to go splat on the sidewalk
Next to the promises that I made to myself.
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
Not in a romantic kind of way,
But in a truth kind of way,
In a goodness kind of way.
And yet, here I am again,
Losing the ground beneath my feet,
Air getting lost on the way to my lungs,
All because I trusted myself,
To squish down the feelings that are
Fighting a civil war in my chest.
I promised I wasn’t going to allow a person to be my trigger,
But what can I do if I gave them the bullet?

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Overload

I spent my day 

With an anxious heart.

I go on my day,

But with every beat,

I feel the unrest that

Lives behind my lungs,

Aching into every breath,

Seeping into my veins,

Turning my nerves into fire,

Causing the brain to malfunction. 

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A Drift 

I’m a nomad,

With a home,

Not far away

But long enough.
 

A pink pillow

The only clue

Where I lay,

Where I’m safe.
 

Breath of air

Feeds wandering eyes

Feet turned backwards

Heart looks forward.
 

I’m a nomad,

No clear direction

Birds fly east

Toward beginnings.
 

Only one pair

On the path

My fingers reach

Grasping at air.
 

A northern star

Fades at dark,

The story unclear,

But I’m here.

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A Lost Thought

My life is a constant,

but I choose the variables.

The reactions of what life

throws in my direction,

are based on my choices

of what I decide to give

back to a world that

doesn’t know the meaning

of a slow and steady race,

but throws curve after curve,

until I lay breathing

in a corner of truth,

determining not whether

I will stand again but

rather which foot will go first,

until I stand tall enough to see

over a city of my hurdles,

that I am too strong,

to have a moment without

meaning. With no meaning,

we give up the control we

gain when we know the

weight of what we are given,

but have the knowledge to hold it

preciously in our hands, like a

feather that just might blow away.

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