My lungs are turning inside out again- and this poem will be void of the use of I because it is not known to me who that is anymore. This heart is beating outside of my chest and my eyes can not focus on one fixed point. It is troubling to me words cannot express how my body is handling this. Situational irony has always been a good friend of mind and my emotions are diminishing further and further inside of myself. Repression is to what my mind is prone to. Ever since the child in me grew roots someone pulled them out as if they were weeds so this person staring back at me in the mirror has always been a figure unfamiliar. Always someone who longs to go backwards so she can feel the familiarity of childhood. Instead she wears a face not her own and a body who she has trouble looking at most days. This week the discovery was made that in order to purge herself of all of this negativity some weight had to be lost- seems she doesn't know what that feels like she doesn't recognize what that looks like- but she makes a direct correlation between memories and loneliness. These nights have been mistaken for sleep and the dreams mistaken for reality. It's no question that identity has always been misgiven.
She makes no sense of her poems and these words she writes down like they're her last. The shaky hands make it hard to type and she doesn't last more than a second in self-assessing, she knows all too well the deep cut of judgment but clings to the idea of contrastiveness. Hoping that comparisons will not be her downfall and that these words somehow make sense.
Again is something she insists on typing because repetition and consistency is what she longs for- but it never seems to come from anything but her own mind and a body that is too in tune with the chaos in her bones she shakes too much, and feels nothing all at once. Calamity and clarity are not words she knows the meaning of- only catastrophe she puts it on her shelf and is proud of how she ended up with it worked too ******* the life of others and no hard enough on herself but she still sees it a prize. Even if she's not the winner- even if she doesn't reap the benefits.