the world broke my body in half
opened stitches with the rustiest of needles
drowned me in seas of my own water
spat at me with words from the worst of speakers
killed me until i was nothing
i walked away bloody and bent.
sewed the wounds again with my hands
breathed wisps of air when i made it back to shore
crushed the last syllables into the pavement
revived the last of my soul
i survived on my own
the world can take some
but it can't t a k e i t a l l
One lifetime is enough;
how long is a lifetime?
Do I measure from the day
Or do I measure from the day
I have been born again,
without ever dying.
I have been at the end of my rope,
where I gave up all ego;
all possibility of loss or gain.
I had it all and lost it all,
and yet found it was there
inside of my heart and soul.
I found my unity;
my individuality is just
the most fragmented aspect
of that unity.
I found my purpose;
what I intend to do
and have set out to do
within this one
I intend to use my intention.
To be visionary and practical,
I intend to have the pure
and loving intention
that I can generate and purify and trust
only in myself.
I intend to do so
during this one lifetime,
and hopefully in each
of the next.
there is one thing
that I strive for
in this one lifetime;
the true happiness
of those around me.
The true happiness
of the united aspect
Bethany G. Blicq
I want to take you away, dear,
Forcefully or not it's your wish.
Of your beauty I am an admirer,
Your veiled sweet internal beauty.
Even you are not aware of that,
Changing bodies like clothes,
I remember our past lives.
My HP Poem #1458
Insanity is running into the same wall,
And Over again.
You're stuck in that same room,
With those same people.
Pounding your first on that door.
That door that is locked.
So you quit.
The door isn't opening,
Those people are still talking,
Unaware of the suffocating trap they live in.
So I will find ways to mingle,
In this lonely, isolated room.
I will find ways to smile.
My coping mechanisms will stay behind closed doors,
And I will survive.
But when that door opens,
And chaos finally breaks loose,
Hell hath no fury,
For what I will unfold.
It’s the dull thud in my head,
Trying to count the calories I’ve eaten today.
Have I eaten enough?
I don’t care.
It’s the prickling sensation in my shoulders,
The panic that starts to rise,
When I think of someone touching me.
Why don’t I like it,
How can I make myself like it?
I give up.
It’s when I look for comfort,
And have to look to a therapist.
At least she’s unconditional,
Doesn’t expect anything from me.
Anything but $165 per hour.
That is when the realization sets in.
I’m tired of being this person my parents wanted.
She’s not me.
I cry as I write this,
Because I think she died a long time ago,
And this imposter has been in her place.
I tried to look for ways to bring her back,
As a hopeless last resort.
I tried running,
I tried lifting,
I was looking in the wrong place though.
Those were activities that made her into who she was,
That helped her along the wrong journey,
A journey not meant for her,
Chosen by someone else.
I tried reading,
Reading of all kinds.
I tried literature,
But she wasn’t interested in that.
I tried Young Adult Fiction,
That peaked her interest.
But only in the way
That it sparked hope.
She hated that hope,
Despised the hero prevailing,
Getting their lover in the end,
Fighting for their family,
Loving their family,
Being loved by their family.
She hated that hope,
Because it reminded her of what she wanted,
And was denied.
Young Adult Fiction was not the way to go.
I tried Netflix,
I wasn’t going to make the mistake of giving her hope though.
I gave her shows with dark themes,
Characters with scars,
And traumatic pasts.
Not in the way I had intended though.
She found solace in those characters
That wore their trauma on their sleeves.
Those who had been to hell and back,
And had to deal with the consequences along the way.
And then I found poetry.
Poetry had always piqued her interest,
But she was unsure of it.
Didn’t know what to write about,
Or how to write.
She bought a book.
This book showed her that poetry didn’t have to have a rhyme scheme,
Didn’t have to have a set pattern or flow.
It could be raw,
Powerful with hidden meaning.
Suddenly that girl had a way to express herself.
All the shame she felt,
At the horrid feelings she hoarded inside,
She had a way to feel them.
A means to explore what she had desperately tried to hide.
Somewhere along the way,
Shining girl died.
She died when she put the pen to paper,
And was faced with what had been done to her,
The childhood that had been stolen from her.
She died when she realized her hopes,
Hopes for somewhere to call home,
Somewhere that wasn’t trapping,
Brimming with painful memories,
She died when she realized those hopes were also dead.
So I’m left,
Mourning at the gravestone.
Mourning who that girl had tried so hard to be,
For her parents,
And for the sake of those who pretended to care.
But with her death,
She granted a freedom.
A freedom to become whoever I want,
Whoever I’m feeling that day.
Of what I want to do,
Who I want to be,
And where I want to go.
For now I am empty.
Hollow from all the expectations,
Of who people wanted me to be.
Of who I tried to be.
Of who I couldn’t be.
For now I will be hollow,
I will be empty,
I will be sad.
I will mourn the death of someone I loved.
And then when the time comes,
I will be whomever I want to be next,
Because that hopeful girl gave me that freedom,
And I will not let her death be in vain.
the wild birdsong
in your soul
upon the grave of
your false self
Sound the gong
Peal the bells
Let your spirit soar
to heights unseen
For today your heart
has been unshackled
This is the day
of your rebirth
© Michael Lechner
On trembling thighs he could no longer run,
How long ago had this begun?
His final frozen breath heaved from his chest,
Had he finally reach'd th' end of his eternal test?
Slowly down unto th' frosted field he fell,
How long he'd been running through this waking hell?
Weeks had passed in silent still he laid,
Each moment lived relived within an' thus his suspended suff'ring began to fade
Return'd back to the breast of Earth from whence it came
Th' body of man will forever end the same
An infinite second in which pain an' hate he'd known none
Anew t' form an' time his soul awoke with the desperate need to run
Crystals pulled by gravity
Decorating nature that has fallen dry
Blanketing the cold and dark world
Which I’ve grown so knowing towards
The light of the frozen white
Melting me out of the darkness
Brightening a path of hope
Just as I felt the darkness encompassing me
I noticed a path
Illuminated by the snowflakes sent to guide me
I trudge along
For the journey isn’t so easy
And my legs often drag
But the muffled silence calms me
As each crystal sent from the sky
Blesses me with encouragement
I often grow tired and lie down
I close my eyes but the light never fails to seep in
Realization sets in that I cannot stop what I have started
No turning around
For the light of hope is all around me
And each snowflake never ceases to remind me
To continue on the journey
For this storm holds beauty and hope
In comparison to the storm and the battle I’m experiencing
There will be days where hope isn’t as bright
For days will always turns to night
But every season passes
And after winter there’s always rebirth
And new beginnings