Buried in silence
beneath layers of self-doubt.
I will stand, and rise.
Author: jennadawn
end with me
Most of what I live in fear of,
in the shadows of anxiety
are circumstances fabricated by my mind.
They come from within me,
my own doing,
and break me.
If they come from me
they can end with me too.
acknowledge the discomfort
I can acknowledge the discomfort
and the depths it reaches
down into my blood and bones.
I can see it there,
give it a name,
inspect and observe its nature,
its behavior.
Why has it chosen to bury here
in my body?
What does it yearn to tell me,
to show me?
How can I help it heal, move on?
What can I find in the space
it leaves behind?
I can acknowledge the discomfort
and grant it permission
to help me heal,
and grow.
thief of joy
They say comparison is the thief of joy.
I’ve seen this, felt this,
I know this.
But still,
I cannot understand
why I expose myself to robbery
time and time again.
lucky one
I believe I read your character accurately
when I met you.
I believe you to be
humble, genuine, kind, loyal, loving
still, now,
as you seemed before.
I believe you to be
‘one of the good ones’, a shining light
upon this Earth
and the lives of those you touch,
including mine.
I will remember you in fondness,
in hope for the future, your future
and what you will create for all of us.
I will cherish your light
and the way you reminded me
that gut instincts, sometimes, are spot-on.
I am lucky to have met you,
and cherish the changes evolving in me
since that day,
the changes you remain oblivious to,
for the better.
needles and cones
The spruce tree
stands tall, stands proud
for all it has lived through.
Heat, cold, summers, winters many,
build and strengthen its trunk.
An ongoing cycle of renewal
adorns the grass and ground beneath.
Discarded needles and cones
cover the last remaining blades of grass.
The tree knows
how to let go of what no longer serves,
making space for new,
for the future,
letting go of the past.
I rake and collect the castaways.
I see no point in tallies or counts
for the total would near infinity.
I have needles and cones
to castaway too,
if only I could be as free
as the tree
in doing so.
punishing fire
Can I offer enough forgiveness
to my past self, to you,
to erase the pain, the confusion, the betrayal,
burning from your eyes
into mine, that night?
Your eyes burn into mine, still,
whenever I think of you.
That fire is the first thing I see,
still feel.
If I’m meant to feel that fire forever,
a hard punishment it would be.
Hard, and justified.
come and go
People come,
enter our lives,
often we don’t see them coming
until there they are, standing in front of us,
asking us to join in their lives, too.
People go,
often too soon,
before we have a chance to say goodbye.
In their shadows we remain
drowning in words unsaid,
yearning for a reunion of any kind
to lighten the load on our shoulders.
People come, and they go,
sometimes to make room for more new arrivals
for we can only have so many, right?
When they go, I wonder where they go.
Do they, too, carry words left unsaid
like me?
morning quiet
Morning of quiet
sitting in peace with my thoughts.
Rejuvenation.
apart from me
He’s gone. He’s in the past.
Not in the present
and likely absent from the future.
In the past is where he can,
should, stay.
Part of me
but apart from me.
Dawning Words 