Self love will always be And will always be a struggle It's the constant acceptance Of you lacking, of your own flaws It's the dissonance between Settling for what's in store or Trying to see what's for more
Self love is about Answering the screams you hear Inside your head once everything Has settled and calmed
Self love is about Addressing your fears, of what is Keeping you awake at night
Self love is about Letting your tears fall, letting your Emotions take over every while For self love is not about sparkles For it is dark, painful, and tiring
The arrival of life Something new is beginning Before my very eyes The world does not try to hide it I’ll be replaced even before I’m buried But I do not resent you I’m not jealous of what I’ll miss I’ve already lived my lifetime And that’s all anybody gets.
My body slows As gravity has it’s way with me My mind is slowing too Slowly the neural network is going dark And with everything slowing down What does time do? It races ever faster Our first day was longer than last week.
The page is turned once again As a eulogy of winter is recited While the weather outside steadily Changes the season As the sun seems to shift Towards the North Until it reaches its maximum height in the sky.
I see the leaves regain life And flowers sprout from the ground Blossoming the earth With new shades. The Vernal ground develops As I can see the dirt slowly begin to give Between my feet As the ground in which I stand Has no seasons. Its nature is unknown And already it rots at my feet It’s as though even nature Has an understanding That soon is my time to go.
For a rarity of your caliber deserved no less More ,yes, but never less Perhaps it was this transient shielding from a world of ill and mischief that stirred within you an illusion freedom bringing forth a hurting change of character So quick and yet setting in motion a slow devouring of the light in my eyes when I saw you for the very first time and after before it faded at last
patterned love responses spiraling outward from the chest in search of hearth and hemlock to soothe the brittle bones of a generation lost to time.
I remember a feeling once felt in the spacious quality of my life in its infancy.
a 'coo' to my mother--her face beaming through the unknown harshness of life yet to touch me.
father was out working, adding more and more points of stress to his life to provide for the seeds he sewed in the soil of his youthful ignorance.
adulthood snuck up on me too and now its too late to go back.
these days the only coup that will save me is the one I perpetrate against myself. the one that corrodes my beliefs and illuminates the extent of their misconceptions about the world and what it means to be me.
loyal are the lashes that lick my flesh serving the blood that drips and flows to the soil of my own wasted youth.
all I can do now is look forward to the unknown that looms ahead; terrifying and promising failure and change alike.
pray to your altars and cry to the invisible mute gods;
they will answer in kind in the laughter of children playing upon your spent life.
and so it goes-- life eats life and mother's die too.
use your voice while you have it--speak of clouds and storms that broke you, of winter and the living silence you've endured.
praise be to the broken and the weary of heart, for in the breaking is the great gift of life
and what you become after each shattering is nothing short of your endless potential.