A crumpled dress thrown like rags
upon the floor.
The hopeless, desperate appeal
of rumpled bed sheets, a fortress of
your own.
Waiting for a message in silence,
curled and surrounded by your
dismembered pieces.
The days when you shy away from
the light;
Wrapped in a wall of quiet,
except this isn’t calm.
It’s an unbearable weight,
marking impressions on your skin.
It’s a deep, roaring stillness;
gushing, rolling and sweeping around
everything you touch.
People can leer,
eyes prying to find what
little cracks you speak of.
But they are immune to what you feel,
layered beneath your skin;
what you see etched in coloured mixes,
painted brushstrokes making art around you;
what you hear and sense;
what you think, to yourself,
the countless visions and places you peek
behind doors unknown to them.
The freedom you alone shall know;
yet all the painful days to follow.
The brilliance you alone can seek;
yet the relentless torments you are to meet.
The feats of strength, russet desire and
hidden depths you could show;
yet all the nervous energy,
self conscious woe you show.
You can be the exhibit of both worlds.
You know what it is to feel the deep burn
of quiet pain inside,
yet the warmth of healing and the
fiery blaze of strength.
Be the exhibit you know you are.
Render even the most lonely and heartbreaking
of your moments beautiful.
Because they truly are.
You may feel broken, torn and ripped in places
you long forgot could be wounded.
You may feel empty, insides carved out for
another’s purposes.
You may feel bereft, lost, confused and vague,
feeling the frightening gaze of the unknown making you
their favourite puppet.
But burdens can be treasures.
Use them and invite people to your show.
Make them laugh, cry and grow.
Your burdens and treasures are necessary,
to be the exact person you are.
Without them there is numbing, nothing.
And you,
you can be more beautiful than that.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
A crumpled dress thrown like rags
upon the floor.
The hopeless, desperate appeal
of rumpled bed sheets, a fortress of
your own.
Waiting for a message in silence,
curled and surrounded by your
dismembered pieces.
The days when you shy away from
the light;
Wrapped in a wall of quiet,
except this isn’t calm.
It’s an unbearable weight,
marking impressions on your skin.
It’s a deep, roaring stillness;
gushing, rolling and sweeping around
everything you touch.
People can leer,
eyes prying to find what
little cracks you speak of.
But they are immune to what you feel,
layered beneath your skin;
what you see etched in coloured mixes,
painted brushstrokes making art around you;
what you hear and sense;
what you think, to yourself,
the countless visions and places you peek
behind doors unknown to them.
The freedom you alone shall know;
yet all the painful days to follow.
The brilliance you alone can seek;
yet the relentless torments you are to meet.
The feats of strength, russet desire and
hidden depths you could show;
yet all the nervous energy,
self conscious woe you show.
You can be the exhibit of both worlds.
You know what it is to feel the deep burn
of quiet pain inside,
yet the warmth of healing and the
fiery blaze of strength.
Be the exhibit you know you are.
Render even the most lonely and heartbreaking
of your moments beautiful.
Because they truly are.
You may feel broken, torn and ripped in places
you long forgot could be wounded.
You may feel empty, insides carved out for
another’s purposes.
You may feel bereft, lost, confused and vague,
feeling the frightening gaze of the unknown making you
their favourite puppet.
But burdens can be treasures.
Use them and invite people to your show.
Make them laugh, cry and grow.
Your burdens and treasures are necessary,
to be the exact person you are.
Without them there is numbing, nothing.
And you,
you can be more beautiful than that.
