Pending

i want to escape

i want to escape

It’s the only thought that keeps me sane.

Every moment, searching for a way to get away.

It’s not a life; it’s not living but it keeps me alive.

I understand it’s not healthy. It’s not being in the moment.

I’m not present when I’m looking for the exit. sign.

Living is a burden when the ones who gave you yours couldn’t carry their own, weighed down by eons of time, by the ancestors who were merely alive.

YOLO unless you carry the load of the ones who came before.

You feel it all until you feel nothing at all

— silent screams

smiles unseen

unspoken stories —

leaving you incomplete.

Image by Jeff Klugiewicz from Pixabay

In the Absence of

I have the keys to everything but I can’t find the door.

I’m a poison dagger, baby. Maybe you should run or do you want more?

I’m an echo of yesterday, why is it so hard to walk away?

I try and I try but don’t know if I’m able.

People assign you a weight when you carry the wrong name.

Try to hide, lost the years because I was paralyzed.

Wish I was numb but all that’s clear is the ache, waiting for their patience to break.

Image by Peter H from Pixabay

On Being

shaking, shaking

my heart is racing, racing

freeze – fight – flee

I know the darkness that’s chasing me.

Pretending it doesn’t exist, I’m pressing on until the end, but I’m left shaking, shaking.

Terror icing my veins, fear seizing my brain, panic setting in no matter how many times I do this.

I wish this was all in my head so I could stop being so bad.

I don’t want to disappoint. I just want to be good.

Torturing myself, I forge ahead, and I feel like I’m breaking, breaking.

I made my own porcelain mask; now I won’t bother anyone.

From the outside it appears, as if I am really here, but how can I be present when I’m living in fear?

I wish this was all in my head so I could stop being so bad.

Image by Marc Pascual from Pixabay

What I’m Not

I’m not a superwoman.

Why is that the standard? Why is it the prize?

Everyday, I try to be better, but there’s never enough time.

No, sometimes I surprise myself with all the ways I don’t get it right.

When every moment must carry the weight of yesterday and the fear of tomorrow, I am condemned and hopeless.

I walk lockstep with the pattern, routine, familiarity as was shown to me. It flows in my veins; there’s nowhere to run.

grinding, twisting, painful existing

I try to pluck it out but it still bursts out,

like a field of dandelions when you wanted a lawn.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Obedience

I’ve got this fire in me, I can’t see for the flames.

Do you see me burning?

I’m burnt out, holding the shame.

The problem with discerning 

is that once you know, you know what you know.

You carry their burden, letting it burn you down.

Maybe I’m a phoenix, if only I could rise.

Rise above, rise above my life.

I’m afraid to make a sound; I’m afraid to fight — 

the poster child for a locked-up life.

Carrying the burden while I’m burning down.

breathe in, breathe in, breathe in, breathe out

find the focal point

Dawn draws near, I can feel it now.

 

 

Image by Andreas Samuelsson from PixabayI

The Gift

I wish I knew exactly what to give to you.

I’ve loved you for years but there’s so much more to you than I’ve seen.

I’m in too deep if I can’t see the forest because of the trees.

I have only my heart spilling ink on the page.

When all that we have turns to dust anyway, let me love your pain away.

Let me hold your aching soul.

If I’m going to lose myself, let it be to something worthy.

Lone Wolf Defined

the trouble is you think I’m predictable

but what you’ll find that you know is nothing about me

I’ve never understood the draw of the rhyme

Just another way to color between the lines.

Does it mean that that I’m subpar, do I really belong to humankind?

I don’t know but that’s not how I flow.

I’m a little bit abstract and sometimes, maybe I’m a little absent.

Make an impression. Show me Monet.

Take my hand and dance to Samain night.

Leave behind what can be defined.

The Imperfect Story

A unique story told imperfectly is more appealing than a formulaic one done well.

There’s charm to the predictability, but does it take us anywhere?

Everything in Moderation

You’re the fire in my blood

Too much of you, I might burn too bright

Without enough, I loose my light

But in the darkness you can see

Out of silence you can hear

I know it’s not redemption but when I look in to your eyes, there’s something there I can’t deny

Where is this spark in me,

this ability to form something from the dust and bring it into being

Oh, you’re the fire in my blood

Read Me

What can I say?

How do I explain?

Not every little thing is pointed your way.

I catch words as they spiral down like snowflakes falling from the clouds.

Baby won’t you smile? I’m not trying to run, I’m not going to leave.

I might be falling. I might be fallen. But I’m yours to keep.