Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?
A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?
I'm sorry I haven't written a while! Love you all
I'm starting to think
Nothing can mean everything
And everything can just as well be
I’m addicted to the feel of cold metal sliding across bare flesh
Addicted to the instant
when nothing marks smooth skin
red rivers rapidly rise
painting a once white canvas
with a flood of emotion,
tears on my cheeks,
sobs caught in my throat,
numbness replaced by pain & sadness.
Addicted to the imperfection
of red welts and dotted scabs that follow,
fingers drawn like magnets
to the texture of healing skin,
tracing over and over and over now fading ridges
Amazed that I am strong enough
to heal myself over and over and over.
Convincing myself that I am strong enough.
I find strength in my weakness.
6 months self harm free! Writing about it helps fight the urge
My Floor, has a Carpet of Sorrow.
So I keep weeping, in the Aisle.
My Bedroom Mirror, is Broken.
Which once held, My Beautiful Smile.
The Hands of My Clock, never Alter,
as things remain same at My Place.
My Broken Heart, keeps Weeping
and I run last, in almost every Race.
Our Affair, has finally Ended
and now U are free to Go.
I will watch My "Sunsets" Quietly.
As My Tears, roll down and Flow.