I Wish I Could’ve Been Myself

What was personified and what was genuine

Are so terribly mixed, I’m unsure.

That which bewilders is beset

With doubt between what’s real and pure.

Make-believe and masquerade

My many truths beffudled in mystique.

A sample of a splinted soul

Shrouded in saturations oblique.

Deciet drawn with smiles

To distract from fractured truths.

My naked self encased away

In case of breakage or missuse.

Secrets so nobody knows

The depths of misery I contain,

The shame and weakness

I consume and in my fear sustain.

I wish that I had been myself

But being myself, what a mess was made.

A look beneath my stained visage

Betrays the oceans I’ve kept restrained.

It’s coming soon, I must confess,

My will and levies are going to break.

So when I finally be myself

My tears might drown away my aches.

Psyche Dancing For Adepts

Illness, psychosis, and trauma

Perfectly juggled with masterful precision

In such a delicate balance

The endeavor of a lifetime

Is required to maintain.

At any cost it must be;

The slightest disturbance could upset,

Unleashing a therapy session’s worth of stress

Upon any unsuspecting victim

Unfortunate enough to present.

Caution is a necessity.

Every potential interaction is a threat

That could jeopardize this balance.

Teetering on the brink of collapse

Leaves little room for distraction.

Careful bursts of madness,

As in the chaotic illogical products

Of a strained and imprisoned mind,

Must be regularly expressed

Within these constraints.

Fatigue, loneliness, and irritability,

Exacerbated symptoms from all sources

With little but solitude, reflection,

And continual effort

As a reward.

With luck and practice,

One may survive long enough

In such a fragile and frigid state

To become numb or indifferent,

Or maybe self-aware.

In one form or another

This precarious dance must inevitably end.

Whether stumbling to ruin, wearing out entirely,

Or relinquishing enough

To transcend.

 

Re-Painting Our Slate

Constant metamorphosis

Cannot undo past realities.

Heritage and origin

Remain set once cast.

Growth and empowerment

Are forever before us,

But we cannot transform

Without carrying the past.

Remembered or forgotten,

Experiences create shape

Beyond any given moment

For us to configure.

Wishing and wanting

Provide no escape.

The harshest influences

Of our history still linger.

Desiring to overcome

And create something better

Requires and embrace

With the ghosts of our affliction.

Such bitter tastes

Often burn as they’re swallowed,

But sorrow’s recompense

Is the price of our ambitions.

 

 

The Bleeding Spot

Thoughts pass

Unfazingly through my consciousness,

Falling ineffectively

Outside my bleeding spot.

The centerpiece,

The open wound from my crown of thorns

Constantly prickling

My most tender aspects.

Soaking out

To infect every fragment of my mind.

Aggravating peace

And re-shaping my disposition.

Never healing,

The abrasion too painful to touch,

Pulsating madly

At the suggestion of sensation.

Reaching in,

Only to tickle it for a moment

Sends it gushing

And pouring down my tear-spout.

Let it out.

Empty this swollen mass of trauma

Little by little

Until it’s finally gone forever.

Necromancy

Deep breaths,

Resurrecting past emotions.

A litany of shit and shame

Deliberately targeted on the present moment.

Tangent upon tangent,

Trauma upon trauma,

Surfacing up to swallow

The security of my bondage.

Like the restless dead

Shrieking as their unearthed,

Naked in the light of day,

Tortured by the slightest sensation.

My life hurts.

All the painful memories replay.

This is My Hell.

This is everything I’ve tried to escape.

Keep breathing.

Wait for everything to bleed away.

Hold onto nothing,

Give it up,

Let it go.

Children Of Pain

Never forget a childhood spent in pain

Or the sufferings that are unique in youth.

As a living being dependent on protection,

Conditioned to accept and embrace their misuse.

From seething traumas to reinforced behaviors

We’re shuttled from shelter by society’s whims.

Pre-designed systems of disciplinary education,

Traditions of conduct to make us like them.

Emotions you’d feel but maybe couldn’t explain,

Ideas dismissed as mere innocent mistakes.

Assumptions that you couldn’t know better

From adults who didn’t understand how you think.

Petty injustices seemed relatively large

When individual happiness meant the whole world.

The first steps towards tasting the bitterness of life,

To the first sight of cruelty’s colors unveiled.

Remember your rights and remember your wrongs,

Remember the choices left for others to decide,

Remember what you were and how you’ve been changed,

And remember the battles you used to fight.

Know children everywhere will face the same pains,

Know they’ll be fighting as we did to survive,

So when you acquire some decisions on fate,

Remember adults are who structure their lives.

 

Fragile Fragments Of Tender Hearts

Tender hearts wash ashore

New arrivals in our play

Unashamed and unaware

Drying on the gentle beach

Looking backwards and ahead

Forming bonds and memories

Unafraid to be betrayed

Loving, hating, carelessly

 

Time a most patient teacher

Humans, the most untamable beasts

Tender hearts encased in glass

Shattered, battered, then repeat

Chances taken turn to naught

Trusted loves will turn away

Fragments of a fragile heart

Burn and bruise and then decay

Deepest wounds we hold inside

Scarier than the loss of blood

Guarded hearts in metal boxes

Too dangerous to open up

 

Battered hearts all locked away

Sick, imprisioned, they will stay

Escaping is the only way

To love and hurt again someday.