A Painful Soul

“Scars

from battles hurt

as It should”

 

 

Way back when waking up every morning was a struggle (honestly not too long ago), I used to write into  my Journals aka my ugly notebook. I sometimes browse through them when I feel stuck.

My first journal is actually really depressing, I can’t believe the state of mind I was in back then, but there are some OK memories in there too.

This week I decided to reedit one of my poetry from it to prove to my readers who battle mental illness, and to myself that life can indeed get better. It is a journey, I still struggle and flop. However,  I am no longer that person, yet it is my story of which I’m proud 😀

Happy Friday!


 

Eyes

like alabaster

reaching into the darkness

of my soul,

I gasp.

 

Aroused

Inside me

A faux without doubt

Another life I’ve lived

stringing cords of distrust,

 

Or paranoia

the  definition of toxic

screaming out someone else’s pain

sliding through impressionable doom

unwillingly

 

The taste

like kolanut lingers

on my tongue

masking the chamomiley one

the ones before left

 

Scars

from battles hurt

as It should

yet I must separate the truth

from fallacy

 

Staggering

dysmorphia is crippling

oodles of bubbles ripple

through a heavy

fragile heart

 

let the  legs sink farther

quaking in unison as they bite dust

again and again

my soul will find your

darker soul.

 

Help.

friend, help!

For in solitude, I live

In solitude

I will dine.


 

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Know Thy Worse Self

We’ve all heard it. We’ve watered it. And it’s grown, and it’s growing faster than innovation. It is the voice of destruction. The one who wants to kill you. The one who will stifle you, and choke you to death without justice.

I’ve listened to it whine, all my life. It’s told me how senseless I am. That I’m too dumb to ever be taken seriously. I am too weird to ever have a meaningful connection. I am too abnormal, no body could care less if I spoke or not. It said, I might as well blend in with the bland wall and disappear. Worse still, no one would notice if I’m gone.

For a long time I committed to it, it’s presence was seethingly stark in my earlier works.

Most days, I tried to reason with it, I accepted it, then I pleaded with it. Then, I  just disappeared like it told me to.

For a very very very long time, loneliness was in the air I breath, it was all I wrote about.

 

It wasn’t up to me, it wasn’t in my power. I began to realise how innovative I could be, then how fierce I am.

It’s okay if no one understands what my poetry is about. It’s gibberish, but even gibberish has added meaning to the heart. It’s fine that I’m not a jaunty influencer that everyone can connect with.

I’m weird, I know and nothing can take that away.

Nothing, not even you, the darkest side of my psyche can conquer me. I fight everyday to know my worse self, for only then can I truly destroy the bitch.

Once I had my wings broken, now I’m clawing my way out of darkness.

Letting myself know that I’m stronger for being weak.


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Image: pinterest

Humanoids

Vulnerable beings in a human world. As many as the shades of the sky, we revel to the atonement of abysmal asunder.

Complex as the hand of Midas, but who decides how to count seconds, and who yelled; Oh look! it’s sand. We braze in the knowledge passed on by people about what we think we know, slowly crouching a bottomless pit because the earth is devoid of  edges.

You’ve conquered an incredulous journey; they may orate, but after that, what next? the future is uncertain and the past cannot be rewritten, even the present is omnimously arcane, projecting little of our influence.

To each, his time capsule afloat. Yesterday we were here, tomorrow we are gone. Only knowing what we were told from the moment of conception, assuming that philosophers and mathematicians of old already did the work, believing a customised template  dreadfully gifted by life — oder the galaxy, whichever seems more plausible.

So forgive me for believing that we exist in a matrix-like state. Our minds being programmed by a universal force. A system that balances peace, chaos, and war.

For all we know we are floating in a tube, force-fed the red pill, waiting to be presented the blue bill at our last wisp of air. A bitter-sweet moment of heavenly wonder.

Metamorphosis

A blank slate.  I’ve hit a wall and I’m intently searching the recesses of my mind for anything worth writing, a scribble even. Really, it’s not that I’ve hit a wall. Quite the opposite actually, I am a dreamer, I hope my visions will never cease, but the block is irrefutable. Communication being a tool I am yet to master efficiently,  perhaps this block in itself is actually a call for notable change.

 

I admire bloggers that have mastered this skill I am reaching for. To turn a seemingly mundane story into something captivating. I need to be as good someday; hmm someday. A multitude of ideas is, in fact, vacant without the right prose, grammar; and that subtle finesse, the icing on the cake.

 

Looking at my week, It was chilled! felt chilled at least, but there is a turmoil. An elephant in the room of some sort. I am close to obtaining my degree and a prescient of transition tides  approaches;

what if these last steps are the hardest”

Sigh.

Nevertheless, even changes breed inspiration.  Here is a spontaneous piece;

 

 

A phantom in the room

An apparition of nightmares

I hear it wading

 

It follows me everywhere

from when I awake

in sweaty fits of night terrors

’till when my head drops

after inebriating on laudanum

 

An elusive illusion

remorseless as he is

Comes to steal

To destroy and kill.

 

Out of nowhere

A glint of light

Cherubic and luminous

Comforts me peacefully

Reminding me that this cul-de-sac

Will breed notability.