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Dee Randall Jul 16
Reprimanded.
Unable to contain the mess.
Of life. Of space. Of mind.
Mentally worn from consternation.
A parent's words harsh in truth.
Harsher still in lack of perceptivity.
Stunted in youth.
Emotionally... creatively.
A broken daughter.
Insufficient.
Too much of this and that.
Not enough of what's wanted.
Still incompetant.
A broken mother, lover, friend.....
Not enough of what's desired.
Too much in personality.
In emotion.
In sensitivity.
Too much of oneself.
Is change necessary to be mended?
Or is this mind irreparable...
this heart unlovable....
this self undesirable?
Is it too late.....
or am I just finally beginning?
Dee Randall Jul 14
Little hands reaching out.
Wanting what? A cuddle?
A mindset bent on keeping busy.
Sweet hands, pushed away.
Another time.
Boisterous voices.
Questioning, always questioning.
Bright eyes, excited smile.
Too much. Too loud. Too many questions.
Beautiful voices silenced.
Another time.
Defective? Unworthy? Unable?
Love is so deep, but the mindset locks it in.
Chained by what?
Turning away. Another is desired. Wanted.
Little hands reach for the spare.
Sweet voices cry when taken away.
The unworthy desires to be more.
To be better.
But emotions locked, shut down.
Trauma from the past?
An insufficient upbringing?
Defective?
Thoughts for another time......
Dee Randall Jul 12
Hello World.
Bright lights, flashing signs, busy streets.
Loud and boisterous, fun and full of life.
Ever racing to the next, biggest brightest, best...
Do you see me on that lonely road? I know you do.
I look at your beauty on full display.
I know you ask, no... demand I join you.
To jump into your center.
Hold my head up, stand tall, don't cry....
Heartbreak isn't worth tears.
But your bright lights hurt my eyes.
Your flashing signs overwhelm me.
Racing on your busy streets feels like a dance with death.
But look over here....
See these woods? Deep, black, overgrown, hollow.
Dangerous you say, full of monsters and pitfalls.
Too risky. You, World, would never venture there. No light.
But I love those woods. They are my home.
You see, I can navigate them.
If I trip, I can pick my self up.
I can roar right back at the monsters.
I am senstive, but that does not mean I am weak!
These woods... They have such beauty.
You just have to brave the dark to find them.
These secret places my kindreds and I discover.
They are ours.
Here we can be us.
We can laugh at nothing, cry at everything.
We can dance our little jigs, without you, World, looking at us with that....face.
We can have our oddities, those things you snub.
We can revel in them.
We can love so freely without restraint, because that's our way.
We have no walls. We are vulnerable.
We can even love the monsters, for that's what we are... right?
We aren't like you.... never like you.
Sometimes we venture to you... wanting to show our love.
But you, World, make us anxious. That toxic thing that lives inside.
A relationship that can't be severed when we are with you.
Constantly telling us we are not good enough for you.
That we don't deserve you. But we ARE good enough.
But to you we are like that priceless vase. Broken countless times.
Constantly repaired. Too vulnerable for your hands.
We are put on that top shelf, away from your warmth.
No flowers to feed our creativity. Just admired from afar.
But you don't really admire us anymore, do you?
Because all you see are the cracks.
I am sensitive, but that does not mean I am weak!
You, World, have to build walls to guard your vulnerabilities..... I don't.
You were once like us, you know. Free.....
Free to live, laugh, love, and just be unrestrained.
No walls, no fear, no need for those binding entities.
We flew.
But you wanted better things.
You found the ground and raced towards the future.
Looking ahead to evolution...to the next advancement.
Leaving what's left of us behind.
We are so few now... nearly forgotten.
So we stay in our secret places, and wait.
We wait for you World, to come to us.
Because we will love you with no restraint.
We adore you so desperately... those parts of you behind your walls.
We love your broken pieces, your scars.
They are those little reminders that you were once like us.
So my kindreds and I will live, laugh, love, and be us unreservedly in our secret places.
And we will wait for you....... but we will never change.
Dee Randall Jul 12
They spin in circles freely without constraint.
Veracious or deluding in exuberance and despair?
Perchance a bit of both?
An ethereal reflective narrative.
Intangible substance.
Internalizing sensitivities.
Processing encounters.
Dramatic imaginings that breed creativity.
Fierce dejection feeds anxiety.
Exultant highs that reach the edge of space.
Traumatic rage to cauterize the soul.
A rollercoaster of words heard within.
Sensitivity.
And unregrettable struggle.
A prized element of this identity.
Dee Randall Jul 12
Sunkissed summer breezes begets memories.
Ponderings of shivering, cool, spring air.
The soft crunch of gravel underfoot.
Wandering down favored paths.
Clasped hands and flushed faces.
Unsurprising intelligence tells of expertise.
Soft lilting speech soothes with butterflies.
Gentle eyes smiling amused.
Inquiring at the process within.
A distant vision embraced in warmth.
Surrendering caress to nervous smirk.
Long talks among flashing scenes.
Ponderings of memories lost to spring.
Lost to sweet, cool, shivering air.
Dee Randall Jul 9
What little traumas affect existance?
Sensitive souls destroyed by petty words.
Judged as wanting and paltry.
No arms to becalm the distress.
Hands brushing skin.
Moving to secret places.
A dark and ardorless touch.
Revealed in action and recycled in psyche.
Surprising kindreds found then lost without words.
First love led to intimacies wracked with devestation.
Cyclical defamation to the mind and body.
Kindreds remade and lost again.
At last, absconding from lingering tethers.
New love found and destroyed.
Too many little traumas repressed.
Too many left raw and open.
Too many affected existance.
Realization is the road to healing.
Dee Randall Jul 9
You are enough.
Your broken bits, I don't need you whole.
You were whole when you were young.
That's a you that I don't know.
The you that I recognize is more than enough for me.
The you now is exquisitely scarred.
Not plainly unmarred.
The you now loves with forethought.
Not imprudent action.
The you now is reticent and reflective.
Not boisterous and carefree.
I prefer the you of today.
Always enough.
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