Tag Archives: writing

Feel it… or hand me the match.

We had swallowed our emotions like glass.
Riping slits in our throats
the breathing no longer muscle memory is strained,
they leak,
seeping through into our veins
searching for our hearts,
hoping to drown it,
to stop the beating,
these hidden emotions are fighting to be felt.
The pressure of suppression only makes coal
We are left waiting to be set alight.

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I am doing good.

I don’t quite know what I’m meant to be writing. I have too many questions about life now, that my anticipation for the answer and it’s need to be right, good, and perfect, seems to be preventing me not only from moving from the spot from where I stand, but from saying the things I really want to say. How important is it that you say the right thing? That every decision amounts to something clean and perfect. Why am I so convinced that what I want to do with my life is so wrong?

When someone asks me for advice about love or life, I always say: “do what feels right and natural to you. Do what you know will make YOU happy”. and I watch them smile and light up as they realize what they really want. And even if they go the other direction they feel happy for a second in knowing what they want and how happy will feel. But when I try to follow my own advice I seem to have a reverse reaction. I seem to hit a moment of sadness and annoyances. It’s as if I don’t believe I deserve my own happiness. In away I’m scared to imagine what I want for my future. I can’t seem to figure out how I want it to look. I know what I want. I know who I want. But I can’t seem to put the pieces together without freaking out. 3

But do deserve happiness and abundance. And I do on some level believe this. But my mind has just spent so many years feeling like I lack everything I need. It’s hard to now look at it all and say I’m full of everything I need. That mental change doesn’t just happen overnight. But I’m going to keep working on it.

On a more positive note, I seem to have gotten a hold of the anxiety aspects of my life. This feels good. Not being tied to the role of the victim of my own thoughts. Yes, my mind still throws a spanner in the works of my plans every now and then, but at least I’m no longer freaking out every day. In fact, I haven’t really had a night session tear fest in a while. So, I’m taking the win.

I don’t quite know what I want to tell you in this post. But I just felt like I needed to write it. Maybe just for myself. So, I can have this conversation with me. An outward experience to my inner turmoil. For the first time, I’m feeling good and happy. Things haven’t completely worked themselves out yet and I’m still in the process of life. But I’m not being a false positive about the outcome. I’m just happy and hopeful. I am starting to be clearer about what I want and what I need. This is new for me. For some people courage means jumping off bridges, for other it is saying something to someone, but for me right now, being brave and courageous is facing myself and the truth of who I really want. Its admitting to myself that it is love, that I do want to move and that that is the job I want. And now with that knowledge I can work on the next step of being braving, which will be going after all those things and expressing them to other people. The steps of healing I guess.

I haven’t been posting much of my poetry or any prose on this site lately, but I have been starting to write in journals more which is a big deal for me. I’m constantly going through moments of feeling like I’m no good at writing. So, it blocks creativity I guess, and then I supress emotions and the circle continues. But I’m getting back into the swing of things. I really think I’m starting to feel the process of healing my life coming through now. It’s taken a long time to get here, but I feel like I’m here. On the shore of the ocean of all I am. And healing comes in waves, and I’m beginning to learn how to ride them.  And I’m not going to put pressure on myself to do this perfectly, just going to focus on doing what feels right for me.

It feels good to ramble a bit about how I’m feeling. these pieces make me feel heard, even if it’s just by myself. Often, it’s me who needs to read it the most.

Is it better than indifference?

How does it feel to kill yourself from the inside
To hold your heart in your own first and tighten till the oxygen seeps out
The gulp when you realise it might be your last breath

Love is but a leash tightened around the neck of our souls capable of leading us to safety
But instead, we pull in the wrong direction
Leashes turn to nooses

I’m looking for you
Reaching for you
Calling out
But love has me standing on a stool
And every time you leave
it’s like my heart inches to kick the chair.

I should read more

My bookshelf much resembles my heart.
It’s filled with stories I had hoped to read and titles I have loved from afar.
I am always too busy to start a book. I’m always too afraid to read.
As if each page may reveal a part of me I was trying to pretend wasn’t real.

I’m made of plot twist and contradiction. I’m sometimes a heavy read.
My shelf has so many books I’m yet to complete
As if I’m hiding from knowing the end. I’m escaping the loss
Like friends, these pages have become to me.

I ‘ve never been good at goodbyes. I’m never good at endings.
I’m always avoiding the last page.
There are so many books I’d wished to never read
and yet they still managed to teach me the world.
My bookshelf resembles my heart.
Filling with Dust but as wide as the world
I need to read more.
I need to try love more