Each day I rise from bed it feels as if I should get a prize. Perhaps a standing ovation, or a big cup of coffee and a "great job!," but honestly-- I'd be happy with a good night's rest.
When the thought of rising seems to be a bit heavy, I think it is important to rest. Otherwise, burnout is imminent-- but as always, I am not so good at heeding my own advice until it's a bit too late. The damage was done.
I haven't quite figured out the words to describe not only the relief, but also the unrelenting panic that race through the mind when you find out that once again, you're going to live. I believe my nine lives have been used many a time, but by grace-- I am still here.
The mind is both a beautiful and infuriating thing.
I know however, that I am not the only person who faces these challenges, and unfortunately-- I will not be the last. However, there are some thoughts on the forefront of my mind, or many that still nag, begging to be released. It were as if a child had become trapped in a maze, but no one knew how to begin searching-- the scattered thoughts in this stream of thought tend to be what others refer to as "overwhelming," but I am also learning that nothing dark survives when casted into the light.
The open letter to my mind:
I sit as a silent visitor
with waves crashing on the forefront.
Reflections
as we walk up to hues of unknowingness and panic
they become murky depths upon which a foundation is born.
Lapping
I tell myself that it is a vacation from word slush and resurfacing memories
Crashing violently on a shore where I was not prepared to build shelter
and no one taught me how to swim.
Shame wears herself in a neat package
of thoughts and regrets that trickle the skin in such a way--
The feeling rising
Waiting to slam from the next set of waves.
31 pearls with which to end the panic fell forth
as if God opened his palm to me
begging me to sip the vile
as if I didn't know better than what is actually
the devils pleasing forms.
Kissing goodbye to those whom I cared for
the ruby's of perceived second chance falling.
a snap from where the hurricane hits
and the piece of soul that was shed with the attempt on a life
And staring down death
with a callous hand
suffocation--
Monsoons-- as the water rushes-- blocking airways
forgetting the act of breath until a recession--
and you are lucky.
not all people survive.
Small trickles of a new rain fall gently
attempting to wipe what has brought a pain
that really-- has become too difficult to describe
but knowing the storm gives way to light
is what motivates you to live again.
So to my mind--
many words to say
the cage
the pain
But when you stare death down its barrel
remember
that this is not worth the price of you
ever again.
When the thought of rising seems to be a bit heavy, I think it is important to rest. Otherwise, burnout is imminent-- but as always, I am not so good at heeding my own advice until it's a bit too late. The damage was done.
I haven't quite figured out the words to describe not only the relief, but also the unrelenting panic that race through the mind when you find out that once again, you're going to live. I believe my nine lives have been used many a time, but by grace-- I am still here.
The mind is both a beautiful and infuriating thing.
I know however, that I am not the only person who faces these challenges, and unfortunately-- I will not be the last. However, there are some thoughts on the forefront of my mind, or many that still nag, begging to be released. It were as if a child had become trapped in a maze, but no one knew how to begin searching-- the scattered thoughts in this stream of thought tend to be what others refer to as "overwhelming," but I am also learning that nothing dark survives when casted into the light.
The open letter to my mind:
I sit as a silent visitorwith waves crashing on the forefront.
Reflections
as we walk up to hues of unknowingness and panic
they become murky depths upon which a foundation is born.
Lapping
I tell myself that it is a vacation from word slush and resurfacing memories
Crashing violently on a shore where I was not prepared to build shelter
and no one taught me how to swim.
Shame wears herself in a neat package
of thoughts and regrets that trickle the skin in such a way--
The feeling rising
Waiting to slam from the next set of waves.
31 pearls with which to end the panic fell forth
as if God opened his palm to me
begging me to sip the vile
as if I didn't know better than what is actually
the devils pleasing forms.
And I worry in the drowning of thought
that perhaps someone might try to save a piece of myself
which I so desperately attempt to shed.
Notions of self-worth and righteous belonging.
a ruby-- or 30. 50-- pieces of demise
from this realm where no one gave me a clue
about these great and painful notions of compromise.
Kissing goodbye to those whom I cared for
the ruby's of perceived second chance falling.
a snap from where the hurricane hits
and the piece of soul that was shed with the attempt on a life
And staring down death
with a callous hand
suffocation--
Monsoons-- as the water rushes-- blocking airways
forgetting the act of breath until a recession--
and you are lucky.
not all people survive.
Small trickles of a new rain fall gently
attempting to wipe what has brought a pain
that really-- has become too difficult to describe
is what motivates you to live again.
So to my mind--
many words to say
the cage
the pain
But when you stare death down its barrel
remember
that this is not worth the price of you
ever again.
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