Today is filled with headaches and their residuals,
with tears I wish I knew how to cry.
When will I feel worthy of releasing this?
I keep ripping up fresh healed wounds,
giving because time became a mystery.
Have all of me,
because I know I’m not here to stay -
can stitch it up and refill later.
I’m full with emotions that I know all too well.
Felling too big to hide within myself.
This is what holding in feels like.
Feel you sticking in my lungs,
pushing through my thoughts.
My own body, demanding itself to be heard.
Soon a ringing in my head,
knives at the womb -
twisting, ripping free,
cause my heart can’t help but hold on.
Will she rage at me again?
     I’m sorry.
I’m always sorry -
     for you, for being too much, for taking
     it to heart, for loving, for-giving.
Never for myself.
And I do not deny that
I know my body language
and I know when I’m not listening.
I know my demons by design
and I know when they are starving.
My own hands feed them.
Too busy distracting myself from the things I know are good for me.
That love I want is far.
That love I need staring back at me.
Her hands, reaching out,
she feels the cold
and is pushing through,
reaching into abysmal distance
for something to take hold.
To pull me back home.
Voices I wish I didn’t want to hear
are singing and enchanting me.
I’m left to face
and this age old Demoness,
withstanding the trials of time.
Tell me what you feed upon
and I’ll serve you on a ******* silver platter.
You are so delicate,
like a flower.
You are all the thorns
you don’t really want to be.
To be seen as precious,
(you are so precious)
so precious they don’t want to pick you,
destroy your beauty.
I’m afraid of any more withering.
Let me stand alone
like the desert rose,
like the blade pushing through the concrete.
Never chosen,
always just a wonder.