I can feel you my sadness;
In the crevices of this spine;
In the clench of this body;
The continual stinging of my eyes.
I can feel you my sadness;
A back, bent forward;
Reluctant to life;
You weep of old memories;
Etched privately in recoil.
I can hear you now my child;
Every tear, every gesture,
Every whisper;
Every silence accumulated in stone.
My enclosed heart —
Know, you remain as memory;
A shadow overlapping each day and night.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
I can feel you my sadness;
In the crevices of this spine;
In the clench of this body;
The continual stinging of my eyes.
I can feel you my sadness;
A back, bent forward;
Reluctant to life;
You weep of old memories;
Etched privately in recoil.
I can hear you now my child;
Every tear, every gesture,
Every whisper;
Every silence accumulated in stone.
My enclosed heart —
Know, you remain as memory;
A shadow overlapping each day and night.
It is liberating to realise that I do not need to be happy 100% all of the time, in order to appear well-adjusted, “mature”, or balanced to others. Ironically the very effort to be happy, makes me unhappy. I feel a greater sense of peace in allowing my sadness. Sadness that was once heaviness, dissipates into a lack of tension wherein I can feel deeper aspects of myself.
