Hope

Whoa, what bitterness is this

Whose twisted thoughts have I trekked in?

Surely this darkness isn’t mine,

This want for aching, wasted time

Someday I’ll be solid, healed

Someday the nightmares won’t be there to steal

If the nights are silent, the days reveal

Endless screaming from the ones repealed

Some time night and day alike

Will toss their haunting-juggling storms

Aside

And all the worry and fear I despise

Will finally

Entirely

Subside.

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Farewell self

It’s me
It’s me. 
I’m the one I need to leave

I had a dream, a choking-scream
It signified someone crippling me
Holding me back, smothering
Someone damaging,
pain-inducing. 

It’s me
It’s me I can almost hear the scream
Why am I crippling myself 

LET ME GO PLEASE

An unrequested love poem

It’s moments when I’m doing homework way too late at night, and worship music is playing softly in the background,

And I glancingly think about how I’m not having lunch with you tomorrow because it’s a Wednesday, not a Tuesday or a Thursday,

And there’s this twinge inside and the Thought just rudely pushes past my mental barriers,

Announcing itself and settling and sending its inky self-assured fingers into my heart, where I feel its strength resonate

And I drop my pen and look up and out the dark frosted window in shock, looking for who said those words which pronounced themselves so clearly in my mind, 

but there is only my worn reflection staring back, like the words echoed defiantly out of some faded inner conscious where poems are born and die. 

“I love him.”

So I shake myself and write some shadowy half-formed unfair sentiment about this gripping proclamation

And then I wearily lift a thermometer to my ear and check my temperature once more 

before continuing to copy down my calculus homework from the textbook, unburdened. 

NyQuil Poem

This is what it seems to be!
when all inflections bury me
engulfed in liquid sleep and stars
my mind scurries through burning hearts

i am tossed about the ground
flurrying on thought and sound
hidden tripping music weaves
a lonely caustic melody.

the words marched on my tongue
and beat a reluctant retreat
for after beating both my lungs
my teeth forced them into defeat.

someday somewhere the words will fare
far better than here they did;
i will not be able to hide in my hair
the love i refuse to admit.

Not-me; me

Share me?

Share not-me;

I am not an empty-heart; I am not ice-blocked emotions. I am not a clean-break, not shards of rounded safety glass, cubed, wound-proof. 

I am not time, I am not burdens. I am not certain

Or worthy. I am not organized; I am not check marks in flawless lists or a docile couple in frozen bliss. 

I am not entirely human. I am not a settler, or someone who stays still. I am not full of perfect health and good posture and concerning food I have no iron will. 

I am not tame or sane or well-kept; I am not clean blank paper or unwritten stanzas or shyness toward people I have not met. 

I am not picture-perfect, I am not cliche, I am not a normal being in any human way. I am not a smart tidy rhyme packed away in a neat little scheme. 

I am the words falling away from your minds in the darkest times of your day. I am poetry and panic and disturbance of sleep; I am wild colors and unmade designs run amok to keep their own. I am the child who names herself; I am the wicked wind that flows through and snags your heart from a branch, tearing it off the trees you entrusted it to. 

I am the sickness in bones and the exhaustion in eyes, carved in the smiles of everyone alive. This I am also, to my own detriment. 

I am full of faith-longing; constellations combust within me, believing for saving and waiting for companions and cleansing of sins. My eyes see nothing and my soul sees the wind. 

I am screams inside that claw up from your chest, possessed by searing flame which writhes without rest. I am mental chaos, a shattering smashing shoving build up of quiet and longing. 

I am aching hearts that gaze at one another in silent agony, lips full of words that cannot be spoken. I am tattered clothing,

Ripped jeans and sloshing souls full of sodden sparkles, tired but relentless.

I am soul — I am endless.