This a personal blog full of my original poetry. My reoccurring themes are commonly about depression, anxiety, grief and other controversial topics. Within each of my poems, I allow myself to become vulnerable while expressing personal experiences or ones of my friends or family.
Oh what dance partners you are,
a delicate work of pain.
Once pristine, now distressed,
an entanglement of wordless feelings.
Hollow howls corrupt the corridors of my lungs,
an anthem familiar to a few.
Slaves to the sun, slaves to the moon.
My nightmares riddled. My breathing shallow.
I feel like I’m drowning,
and my heart is the sea.
Depleting me to nothing but my pointe shoes.
trauma will bruise these pages
forever
the ink of discontent
will never run out
and I think about
today
how I woke up with anxiety
how I took a shower
and my shoulder hurts
and my ribs won’t stop rearranging themselves
and the pain is always better
but it never goes away forever
so yes
I am preoccupied with yesterday
simply because
the healing is never complete
and I don’t ever know
when the devil will come back to feast
on the frayed rope
holding my heart in one piece
and how can you heal
ever
when the struggle is never
complete
when I still see those glowing eyes
watching my every move
from a closet that never stays closed
I can’t let my guard down
ever
I can’t move on
because it never stops
following me
like a shadow
I cannot sever
from my ankles
so it drags behind me
everywhere I go.
you were in love with the idea of love
and control
i was in love with you
maybe not…
you were in love with the idea of owning
me
i was in love
with safety and acceptance.
you weren’t in love.
i wasn’t safe.
-beasts tell lies
what she really wanted was
to find words that told her
who she was.
a lexicon for her feelings.
they’re the only thing keeping you going. they help you forget that little corner of your brain that is drowning and suffocating and burning. they melt away the numb and paralyzing nights and make you feel alive. they give beauty and value new meanings. a lifetime of adventures, and stories, and in the moment moments are all you can see in the hues of their eyes.
-the fine line between hope and naïve
therapy. a refuge of my being.
a place where my mind acts as inkblots
only i can see.
i lay down or write, most times i don’t speak.
i’m scared that i’ll mumble faster, than i can think.
A-N-X-I-E-T-Y
anxiety
intense, excessive, and persistent fear
about everyday situations.
ignored because of its familiarity
abused because of its formality
no inconvenience is a minor inconvenience.
Not So Simple 