She

She is solid
an unmoving river that has coincidentally
washed all my sorrows away.
And if it were not for her
I don’t know if I would have
both my legs to stand on
or both my lungs to breathe
as they beat in my chest
reminding me that I am still alive.

And I’m alive.
That’s the miracle of it all
that reminds me to be grateful
everyday
when I get out of bed each morning.
I’m still here
with both my hands and my heart
and my sickly brain
And she is the only reason I breathe
she is the only obstacle.

 

New Beginnings

We are all dying

Shedding and decomposing

As the worlds spins on

Unforgiving

And you and I

And our broken hands

We have yet to mend

Hold on for dear life

For although we want to die

Life has only just begun

This Is What Happens When Depressed People Write

What happens

when we allow ourselves

to feel? Do we suddenly

recognize

the pain,

the sadness,

the agony

buried deep inside

our bustling minds? Or, is

the recognition

gradual?

Do we slowly

develop into

anxious beings

wanting to rid

ourselves of either

our trouble

or life, itself?

 

The Unthinkable

I never thought that I would smile,

that I would hear you breathe rhythmically,

in sync with my own heartbeat,

that my hand would reach out for yours

even if you were not near.

I never thought that I could love,

that I could open up my heart and bleed

without feeling ashamed,

that my world would be forever altered by your touch.

 

I’ve Found

*I went to a slam poetry workshop today, and it was absolutely amazing. Anyway, we had to do an exercise in which we started to write a poem, and after a couple of seconds, random words were thrown at us that we had to immediately incorporate into our pieces. It was very strange, but I suggest this activity to anyone, poet or not. 

I’ve found that the beautiful and the untamed go hand in hand, their fingers laced and intertwined.

I’ve found the darkness reach the sentiments of my own heart, its genuine history developing a new connection.

I’ve found that love can take many speed bumps, or heart can take the logic away from the level head.

I’ve found that Georgia is a lovely state, with mean and funky twangs described as accents infusing a different dialect.

I’ve found that dictionaries are very thick, the pages close together filled with words upon words that nobody knows.

I’ve found open spaces develop between the queen of my heart, the gaps empty and statistical.

I’ve found that dreaming is a simple task, but one with an elemental purpose, its use abundant and homeward-bound.

I’ve found that once I fell in love, my interpreting colors as signs, my brain unadulterated.

I’ve found that reason is not good enough when wibbly wobbly feelings are fleeting away.

I’ve found that hawk eyes look strange in the daylight, they mangle in the resemblance of my yesteryears, churning away at my

insides, their nitpicking voices cheering.

I’ve found that antibiotics don’t really work when your brain is sick, chiding away at your conscious, its comebacks unamusing.

I’ve found that  wrongs can make great rights if you spin the details a little.

Quote of the Day #25

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”- Maya Angelou