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She's shaking.
Unstable.
For the taking.
Swallowed in fog.
Connection is lost.
She's cut off
From herself.
She's cut off.
Can't get out.
There is no where but here.

"Disappear. Disappear."
She whispers.

"I am here. I am here."
She answers.

"Tell me." He says,
"Tell me all that you dread."

And her fears spoke louder
Than anything ever said.
Inspired from learning about polyvagal theory and the feeling of being "stuck" in the sympathetic state (fight/flight/freeze) or dorsal (collapse). Speaking about where youre at can help you bring back ventral state to the foreground, the beneficial state, the ability to have connectedness at ease.
"What is your aim in Philosophy?”

“To show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle”
(Philosophical Investigations) – Wittgenstein
--------------------
Tell them that I lived as long as I could,
then I died, thinking this was all new to me.

If they line up at the portal from then to now,
tell them to remember, any fly can find its way.

Go on, thinking that said it all.
Go on, knowing it said nothing new now.

The way into the bottle is the way out,
flies all know that naturally…
kitchen windows, though,
those can cause fly insanity.
Wittgenstein's nearly last words were "Tell them I had a wonderful life," so I thought, what might the fly think... the one he attempted to show the way...
I severed
ties
and all I have
to give you
is a band aid
to stop the
bleeding
for I am robbed
of all my
FIRST AID KIT
of affection
I
for
got
for
mality
for
it fermented
itself
in
for
ming
years of
com
for
t
When they tell me
"we understand"
I take them seriously
because they will always
be under
the impression
that they know
Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice
The words fall short
of their meaning
the one beyond the read

The lines weaken
and leave the reader
with a sense of boredom

The heartbeat
only in that cage
and fails to bleed
on pages

The papers
become satiated
with empty ink
lacking quality

The poet
loses him/her/them self/ves
in that limbo
between
head
and heart
running on a treadmill
trying to catch the fleeting muses

The poet dilutes
in reality
his/her/their greatest
fear
for that is
what they
try to escape
in every
poem
For full poem: https://indiedoodles.wordpress.com/2024/09/03/what-happens-when-you-numb-a-poet/
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