poem

Split in Two

The way I hide away,
to remove myself, from myself,
from my other self,
the one that overthinks,
to remain in motion,
without hindrance or hesitation,
because she doesn’t want to
think of how disorganized,
an absolute wreck, she is
trying to keep it all together.

She exhausts herself; gives
too much to others until
burnout. She keeps up with
self-care, responsibilities,
other duties but she knows
it’s just a matter of time
until it all blows.

She breathes to steady the
heartbeat; in, out, in, out.
Another thing she tries
to control but she knows
it’s only a matter of time
until it too takes
it’s last toll.

poem

Exhaust

You give to others to be the love they need
You give to others to be the one when no one else is there
To be their cheerleader, to be their rock
When no one else had cheered for you
When you thought the more you give, the more you get
To see the smile and warmth in their faces
When you thought it would give everlasting joy
It is but a fleeting moment after hours of attempts to muscle through
It is the high at the top of the roller coaster before the car drops
And it’s the sinking slowly back into the sand
Covered up to your eyes, just enough so you can’t be seen
But you see that there’s no one giving back to you

And you breathe that in, breathe out and release

poem

Thank You For This Gift

I used to dream of the sea,
of lonely nights,
the ones of you and me
staying up late
through all hours of the night
planning what we’d do
if we were in the same room

I don’t dream of that anymore
for when I’m in need
I turn you on
and there you are
reckoning every nerve
in this delicate body

I recall your words whispering in my ear
for hours on end
turning pages deep within my soul
breaking down walls
that were trying to stay strong

A constant surprise
how you’ve done this to me
a consuming yet calming
settled in deep
by words spun on repeat

Mesmerized, I’ve memorized line by line
destroying me with perfect intonation
and yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way
this gift you’ve given me

Happy birthday dear friend

Photo by Katerina Holmes on Pexels.com
poem

The Strength In Our Scars

Reposting because we all need to be reminded. And when I say “we” I mean “I” …

When it comes down to it, I think if any of us are going to make it, we simply just have to believe. We have to believe in the power of the small things, in the comfort of a cup of coffee, in the calming, melted hues of a sunrise, in hearing our mother’s voice on the other end of the phone after a long day. We have to believe that we can overcome whatever weight life ropes to our spines, whatever circumstances our choices or our shortcomings throw our way. We have to believe in love; we have to believe that we are worthy of it, that we are deserving of being chosen despite the insecurity or the flaws or the mistakes. We have to believe in our ability to take care of the people we care about; we have to believe that we are enough for them. We have to believe that we have permission to be whomever the hell we want to be, that we have the capacity to be truly, and deeply, happy. We have to believe that we aren’t alone, that people see us for who we are and what we have the potential to be. If we’re going to make it, we have to believe that we are growing. We have to believe that we are meant to be here.

The Strength In Our Scars