Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amanda Blomquist Nov 2016
The basement of my mind.

   Cluttered with **** storms and broken promises,
          Withered alongside reminiscent daydreams of passed past nightmares.

I stare...
   Into the internal dwellings of my deepest catacomb.

          Unable to process what resides in my literal unconscious dungeon.
   It's everything I've attempted to hide.

To die.
   To let dwindle between cobwebs and dust bunnies.

   Sifting through the residue of forgotten treasures and material shackles.
          They bond me.
Surround me.
   Overwhelm me...
          The unresolved burdens have taken residency within my hindered chakras.

My chest is heavy.
   The weight distribution of disappointment is sharper than expected.

It eats away at me.
   An elusive daily ritual.

Waves of emotion.
   The tides roll in.
          Upon their migration my muddled secrets and hidden betrayals are uncovered.

My internal stack of unfiltered, unregistered, and unassured disheveled boxes.
   Full of disheveled useless things.
          Covered in a thick layer of problems i'm incapable of handling alone.

   It sits unaltered and ever growing.

The piles.
    The filth.
          The remnants of what should have been happiness.

It all falls into misplaced sediments.

I'm a mess.
It's showing.
I'm naked.

    This hell.
This murky chamber of unwanted mementos from failed attempts and lost friendships
          This dreadful, endless room.

Oh, to live in a home without a storm shelter.
    Without room to store unnecessary baggage and all the unclaimed items in my mind.

To find solace in meager living.
   All this weight fitting into a backpack.

To minimize my insanity into a carry on.

   To leave.
To go.
    To be light enough to feel the light.

To escape this cellar.
     To live.

To release my self from my own ideological prison.
    To penetrate the bars of fear.
          To dig myself out from all the things I never want to speak of.

To be free.
     Ahhh, to be free.

To breathe fresh air over molded dust clouds and stale particles.
     To touch without needing to rinse my soul clean.

To re-stack, rotate, and Tetris these piles of insecurities.

To break habits
           that I've reinterpreted from childhood addictions and failed father figures.

To be better than what I've become.

To set fire to this sham of a lifestyle.
     To be reborn in the ashes of this outgrown armor.

To let go.

     To find pride in myself.

To not be embarrassed by my place settings and mismatched knick knacks.

To allow souls into my temple without them stumbling into my isolated lunacy.

To welcome love.
        To love.
    To love even the darkest crevasses of my being...

I need to renew my license to live.
     Overdue and out of line,
           My past self has expired.

One step at a time, inhale.
    One box at a time, exhale.
       One thought at a time, breathe.


 ­     Accept.
Amanda Blomquist Sep 2016
We begin to touch from fingertips to flesh, that’s how we introduce ourselves. We’re naturally compelled to to feel each other’s energy.

My fingertips are encoded with my identity. They are imprinted with twist and turns, a blueprint of my chemistry.  

They extend beyond my reach. Grasping at life, taking in everything it returns. They may be burned while touching the flame or met with warm hands just the same.

My fingertips dance gracefully over goose-bumps and soft skin. They feel the rhythm of deep breaths and skipped heart beats that begin to beat again.

They palpate rough stones in cool river beds. They caress raw edges of ancient arrowheads.

My fingertips have healed broken hearts and past regrets. They mend sore feet and weak spines. They feel for the lone tear drops that are intertwined with high fives and laugh lines.

Like branches seeking light they reach out for love. Past tangible offerings seeking all the things that can’t be touched.
2016 homage to a body part assignment
Amanda Blomquist Oct 2015
Standing here withered, with clenched fist and a dented tongue.
Cracked teeth and a collapsed lung.
My nerves jumping the gun and firing sporadically,
... A million jolts to the body at once.

I'm here, with wide eyes and a broken jaw.
My heart races in anticipation.
A battle against myself.

A war I've never won.
Amanda Blomquist Oct 2015
Jaw on lock down.
Bone on bone.
Condemning my tongue to a million sentences of silence.
Open and unhinged.
Still no words were said, for all that solitude left me tongue tied and anxious.
Amanda Blomquist Oct 2015
The energy given.
Depleted and mistreated.
As though my timelines have no relevancy to those around me.
Drained without replenishment, no water for my roots.
Only synthesizing the air for you to breathe a higher quality of self involvement.
I'm seeking a synergistic bond where helping hands spread beyond two.
I'm fighting my way through the balance.
Where positivity is borderline naive.
Where I can believe before seeing.
Where the truth in me lifts the truth in you and we exchange oxygen freely without needing to speak of need.
To meet along lines of being human and the same, without the hierarchy of names.
To meet from which we came.
Amanda Blomquist Oct 2015
I've been there.
Now, I don't know where you rest your mind but I understand the conscious battle in which you struggle with.
I've tip toed along the edge of that razor and felt the pull of released regrets as I harvested my skin.
I've danced with nightmares and hid from demons.
I know that you are where I was.
Your journey is not mine but I know our kind.
Expressing honestly the darkness inside while aimlessly searching for light.
Now, I'm not here to tell you that it's easy and I'm not an advocate for shedding blood and crying yourself to sleep.
I can't tell you when the dark path you walk along will end but, I can promise that there are sunny spots through the trees and although things arent better you can direct things more positively.
I can tell you I survived a battle.
When I was there, huddled inside myself I built a wall around my being.
I wouldn't let even the kindest soul in for fear that they would not love the true me.
Don't let fear send you so far that no hands can extend your reach.
I know you are strong.
I know this because you are here.
I know this because it take strength to hold the weight of a blade.
But, I promise you that it takes even more to put the knife away and face your problems with clear eyes.
Now, I realize that you are not me.
I realized that your struggles are unique to you and yours alone.
But, I promise that fighting is easier when you have a hand to hold.
I promise that there is light in this world even if you can't see it right now.
I promise that even though I don't know you, that I will be there.
Not to lecture or persuade you.
But, to just be with you
To breathe with you.
To feel with you.
To simply exist with you.
Amanda Blomquist Oct 2015
Corrosive thought matter eating away at what I thought mattered.
My heart on my sleeve, torn and tattered.
An emotional warrior sent to battle that here after.

Anxiety is dripping off my tongue, spilling hope with a heavy heart and faded lungs as though  my love for you had just begun.
Standing in the sun, holding hands with your light.
Fingertips wrapped my knuckles tight, a sleepy pinky promise tucking me in at night.

To see the things I never dreamed and dream of things I never knew.
It's always you.
Next page