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Literature Text
As I tread the paths I know so well
All life’s complexities are quelled
Every time I relive this I rediscover
How simple it is, one foot after the other.
Hear the howl of the wind
Breathe in and embrace
The chill air and the spray that caresses my face.
And I wonder
If my true self is the someone here
Without any other persons near
To encourage my lies and countless pretences
And the poisonous words which are my defences
For alone I am not plagued by the fear
Of how to others I appear
For I cannot act but only
Be,
Here.
Without my audience.
Feeling, breathing living, walking.
All life’s complexities are quelled
Every time I relive this I rediscover
How simple it is, one foot after the other.
Hear the howl of the wind
Breathe in and embrace
The chill air and the spray that caresses my face.
And I wonder
If my true self is the someone here
Without any other persons near
To encourage my lies and countless pretences
And the poisonous words which are my defences
For alone I am not plagued by the fear
Of how to others I appear
For I cannot act but only
Be,
Here.
Without my audience.
Feeling, breathing living, walking.
Literature
Therapists, I don't like their taste.
i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through
Literature
social anxiety.
i'm sorry,
but we can't talk.
not now, not ever.
because i may say
something i'll
regret later.
because i may make
you feel very
uncomfortable.
because i may just
stop breathing for
the rest of the day.
because i may upset
you and you'll run
away forever.
i hope you understand
i'm only doing this
for your own good.
it's not really for me.
i can just feel it.
and it's not good.
my throat tenses up.
my head throbs around.
my fingertips stop feeling.
i'll stop wishing i were
here and start wishing
i were in the ground.
six and a half feet under
would be much better
than speaking out loud.
silence escapes my lips
as
Literature
Bipolar
Every day, wake up and take a pill
So you don't go looking for lethal thrills.
Haven't you ever wanted to go to the brink
Of destruction, just to see if you'd sink
Into the clutches of death or if you'd survive
Just because God still wants you alive?
You live on time stolen not borrowed
From some intangible thing called tomorrow.
Forget that white, round pill stamped 1-4-2
And you'll realize how much you can do
If only they would let you try
To jump off, spread your wings, and fly.
But even with the meds in your system,
You still aren't without symptoms.
Your working memory abilities
Are poor enough to come to futility.
Ima
Suggested Collections
I am very fond of going out for walks in the "countryside" (i do not claim to live anywhere with spectacular scenery) around where I live. Unfortunately I do not have much time to do this in term time but in the holidays I go out in all weathers, sometimes for 2 or 3 hours and it is one of the main pleasures of my day. Whenever I go out I always find myself in the same state of mind, and this is so different from how I am normally and how everyone knows me. That is what this poem is about.
I have been let down by the deviantart categories AGAIN. I couldn't decide wether to put this into Nature or Philosophical so i flipped a coin and it is definitely not Open but that is the only thing I could classify it as.
The picture is where I was walking when the idea for this poem came into my head.
I have been let down by the deviantart categories AGAIN. I couldn't decide wether to put this into Nature or Philosophical so i flipped a coin and it is definitely not Open but that is the only thing I could classify it as.
The picture is where I was walking when the idea for this poem came into my head.
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Comments3
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I totally know what you mean - both as a walk and my kind of 'walking through life' - the path forms under your feet. 