One day
you will come to forgive yourself
for the pain you caused others
and for the pain
inflicted on you.
Tag: mental health
what-ifs
I do it to myself
I know
playing the game of what-ifs
that never ends.
The lure of possibilities
never taken,
likely never to be explored
offers respite, a getaway,
temporary change.
The hard part
is coming back.
Push through
Fight through the urge
to turn around, to succumb,
when it feels too difficult
in the moment
to push through.
Push through anyway.
Feel the initial resistance in doing so
to then revel in the pride,
and happiness,
of taking yourself beyond the hurdle.
Push through
to feel the pride.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Step back and take another look,
at everything.
See the storm clouds rolling away
with every exhale.
Watch until your eyes believe
and your heart understands
that this will pass,
and peace has always been here,
and can be.
theme parks
I visit a different theme park
every day it seems,
one day filled with roller coasters
and the next with gentle swings.
Today the air is warm and bright
filled with laughter, sun and cheer,
but a storm passed through a few days ago
of darkness, thunder and fear.
I never know what the weather will be
or what theme park I will attend,
but each day begins with opportunity and hope
that I shall seek to capture and defend.
Drown the sorrows
Drown the sorrows,
the struggles, the insecurities
in the liquid
that warms your mouth and throat
and leaves a fire
in its wake
to validate your acknowledgment.
How many times have you
tasted this burn,
felt it smoldering for hours and hours?
Tell me,
does it make things better
or worse?
little bit farther
Watching the needle
dip down, down,
closer to the bottom
and yet,
I keep on going
wondering how far I can go
before the last drop is used up.
Just a little bit farther.
The light comes on.
Just a little bit farther.
inner me
Between me
and my inner self
what is there left to do
but fight for her,
the inner me?
I need to set her free.
Every day
Riding through the waves of the day
from high to low
and only a short while on the even.
From good to bad
and mediocre
several trips per day
makes for an aching vessel
when the finish line arrives.
Every day
the map fuzzy, unclear,
uncertainty
of sharp corners and rolling hills
remains a certainty.
Every day.
My memory is a peculiar thing
My memory is a peculiar thing
taunting me with the past,
focusing on loss, heartbreak and anguish
than those moments of acceptance and joy
in stark contrast.
The more I remember, the less I remember.
Memory skews the reality of what
once was, of truth.
It must view this as a game,
how far can we deviate from reality
and still make her believe,
and build her future based on these?
When memories are distorted into a
new, thwarted figure
what do I have left?
What can I believe in? Lean on?
The more I remember, the less I want to
remember.
Dawning Words 