Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
If we allow the weight of that emotional baggage to tie us to that measurement, then it can do damage, then it means something, then it can hurt us emotionally, physically, however we choose it to.
But wait, it’s just a measurement.
As a small child, I tentatively
reached my feet toward the floor
apprehensive of the crevice,
the mere inches
where darkness bleeds until
my monster emerged
The raw emotions continue to be painful. I’m still spazzing. I’m still distraught. I’m still frantic and furious. I’m working hard to shed this baggage and the image that has been branded upon me. Meanwhile, I am damaged. Mentally and physically, I am unable to cope on my own. I need support. I need help. I need an advocate.
I finally understand what it means to be a survivor. I must find my footing, pave my way, and mow over the resistance. Even if I’m all alone, I fully intend to fight for my self-worth for as long as it takes.
When the silence starts to scream,
when the pain starts to demand,
I search for a crowd,
one that can distract the deafening silence.
I touched upon my entire anatomy of silver ribbons and glittering intentions and deep black tar of unidentifiable insecurity without first learning how each part of me functioned.
I couldn’t sleep anyway
There was nothing else to do with my rage and sorrow
no one believed me – everyone hid in the shadows of shame
I was a broken exile machine piled
exiled in the house I grew up in
so I ran
“What I’m saying is, you could drop dead at any moment.” Blunt, direct and impatient, my father’s cardiologist meant what he said. Didn’t even flinch. “So what you are saying is, my father’s heart has weakened since the last MRI six months ago?” “Yes. One side is overcompensating for the Read more
I break character through dynamic vocals and stray fingertips. The beach looks like me, sometimes: grainy, abundance of free speech, unintentionally waterlogged. But you, you live green: soiled, unrooted, an unexpected baptism in nature. Thirty times over. A clashing multiple of prints, seared and stained and loving, all working through the same tangles just to find what’s left in a woman. To find what’s left in a body.