Dec 2016
I've got mountain ranges trapped inside me like whistles on a broken melody of symphony
I speak in sonnets of Shakespeare my anxiety it's shakes fear
I've got oceans bottled up inside messages asking for saving
This is survival poetry.
So let me tell you about how I was saved by the colour brown.
They say fall in love with the girl with forests in her eyes
So my whole life I've been searching for hills to dive in.
Till one day I came across a mid-winter's night dream.
Of leafless trees and barren fields.
Of branches shivering in the cold wind of winters heart.
Every idea
Every sensation to exist
Every desire to consist-ently
Talk about how yesterday I was a graveyard but today I'm a orphanage
Not dead yet
Just searching for a home
For a family
I'm searching for serenity
Before I'd search in places made of gold and tender hands
Before I'd search in places that said the right things
Before I'd search in places called emotional abuse.
Called a trip down memory lane, except the memories were in the basement and I was pushed down the stairs.
Walking around with a broken halo and an excuse to call misery home.
But today I see sunsets reflecting off mirrors into the southern void of the Carcasses you once loved.
Scraping gum off the sidewalk of my spine.
Replacing them with burnt bridges and animal traps. Like claws saying, "don't **** with me."
You ever hear of the buddy system?
Well it's enforced a poor sense of self worth in me. Making me think that being codependent was survival. Making me think that I was incomplete in need of another half.
But I'm only now realising I'm both sides of the moon.
I'm the night and the day.
I'm the birds in the morning and the crickets in the evening.
I'm the ocean and the sand.
The mountains and the canyons. I'm the whole ******* in one.
The other day someone mentioned that whole and hole sound the same but are polar opposites and maybe that's why my whole life hearing the words "good enough" sounded like a request to empty an abyss.
Maybe I was misinterpreting. maybe it was a poor choice of words, like
i need you
But only to fill this void.
To take the pen and write a poem but then say, "it doesn't really mean anything I was just bored"
Bored like boarded windows and mean like the average amount of demons hiding in the brightest corners of my mind. (the answer is one less than the amount of hands clutching onto the pen.)
I'm addicted to this feeling of revealing every part of me in words that mean everything other than what they're inclined to be.
This world is Kryptonite in your veins and you've got are 24 steps left to reach the sun.
A day ago you were speaking about crystallized harmonies like your sister's violin chiming through the corridors of your two story childhood home. She had a room all to herself,but you had to share yours with skeletons in your closet, flies on the walls and the elephant who always seemed to be in the room.
However they weren't the reason you couldn't go to bed.
Cause after 17 years you've still got voices living in your head.
Father, is this our daily bread?
I speak in sonnets of Shakespeare my anxiety it's shakes fear
I've got oceans bottled up inside messages asking for saving
This is survival poetry.
So let me tell you about how I was saved by the colour brown.
They say fall in love with the girl with forests in her eyes
So my whole life I've been searching for hills to dive in.
Till one day I came across a mid-winter's night dream.
Of leafless trees and barren fields.
Of branches shivering in the cold wind of winters heart.
Every idea
Every sensation to exist
Every desire to consist-ently
Talk about how yesterday I was a graveyard but today I'm a orphanage
Not dead yet
Just searching for a home
For a family
I'm searching for serenity
Before I'd search in places made of gold and tender hands
Before I'd search in places that said the right things
Before I'd search in places called emotional abuse.
Called a trip down memory lane, except the memories were in the basement and I was pushed down the stairs.
Walking around with a broken halo and an excuse to call misery home.
But today I see sunsets reflecting off mirrors into the southern void of the Carcasses you once loved.
Scraping gum off the sidewalk of my spine.
Replacing them with burnt bridges and animal traps. Like claws saying, "don't **** with me."
You ever hear of the buddy system?
Well it's enforced a poor sense of self worth in me. Making me think that being codependent was survival. Making me think that I was incomplete in need of another half.
But I'm only now realising I'm both sides of the moon.
I'm the night and the day.
I'm the birds in the morning and the crickets in the evening.
I'm the ocean and the sand.
The mountains and the canyons. I'm the whole ******* in one.
The other day someone mentioned that whole and hole sound the same but are polar opposites and maybe that's why my whole life hearing the words "good enough" sounded like a request to empty an abyss.
Maybe I was misinterpreting. maybe it was a poor choice of words, like
i need you
But only to fill this void.
To take the pen and write a poem but then say, "it doesn't really mean anything I was just bored"
Bored like boarded windows and mean like the average amount of demons hiding in the brightest corners of my mind. (the answer is one less than the amount of hands clutching onto the pen.)
I'm addicted to this feeling of revealing every part of me in words that mean everything other than what they're inclined to be.
This world is Kryptonite in your veins and you've got are 24 steps left to reach the sun.
A day ago you were speaking about crystallized harmonies like your sister's violin chiming through the corridors of your two story childhood home. She had a room all to herself,but you had to share yours with skeletons in your closet, flies on the walls and the elephant who always seemed to be in the room.
However they weren't the reason you couldn't go to bed.
Cause after 17 years you've still got voices living in your head.
Father, is this our daily bread?
