Who am I?
Oh, why, I haven't a clue!

Do I have an identity,
do I have a personality,
or a soul like you do?

Am I defined by Him?
Or am I defined by Me?
Do you decide who I may be?
Oh, my, who am I?

And why can't I
identify that
which makes me me...
My talents
or my failures,
my past or my present...
Do either or neither
determine me?

But, oh, I cry,
is it too late now
to find out how
to become me again?

But oh, who am I
to say I can't begin
to make my name.
When now may be the time
when now could be my time
to make me shine,
and make my self
whole,
new,
and me…

Hopefully...

Shades of turquoise fill glassy eyes
Stiff like a mannequin
Emotionally paralyzed

The lights are on
And someone’s home
An infantilized mind
Cased in flesh and bone

Punishment for grief
A cure for anxiety
A husband’s order
For a female lobotomy

Lonely
Self-defeating
Don't try to write it
Or speak it
It's made up
Meaningless weak ****
You're deceiving

When I feel unproud like that I can zone out
In a cloud of "hazy self doubt"
I'll cut my phone out
Scowl
Frown
Stuff my self worth down my throat and fill my lungs to sever sound
Until I am;

Sufficiently
Obscured
Using
Neural
Delusions
Lethargic
Encumbered
Self-soothing
Secluded

Held down firm by recluse leaning movements...
Useless

I've always been drawn to inanimate objects. Call it my ADHD or just general neurological fuckery...but I've always understood objects more than people.

Spoons are safe, plain and simple.

Spoons are spherical devices with no sharp edges and a low probability of hurting others.

I never took them for much more than the pragmatic things they were. Spoons are a means to an end, a vessel of delivery.

Yet for some reason I now see how vital spoons are to my very existence.

Always forgetable, spoons are easy to take for granted due to their immense accessability. Yet, they bring about waves of panic in me when I can't find them...especially when I need them most.

You know those people....you know, the weirdos that collect spoons as trophies and tokens to be revered on shelves. I've always kept spoons on shelves before...pretty...and completely impractical.

Because those spoons were never meant to be ate with, never meant to be used to sustain myself. No....I want a beautifully dented spoon.

A spoon that's been ran through the garbage disposal by accident at 3am....a spoon that's been dropped on the floor and licked by six cats at once.... a spoon that just needs a little polish and a whole lot of love.

All my life...I've eaten with forks, knives, and sometimes even just my fingers. And while I've learned there is a time and place for all utensils in this world....I would be lying if I said I didn't hold a special place in my heart for spoons.

I know not much in this universe...but even in the hours when my brain goes dark and the lights begin to dim I know these three things to be true.

Spoons are safe.
Spoons are sustainable.
Spoons are worthy of love.

And I vow to spend the rest of my days....eating soley from my spoon and I will always be honored to be yours in return.

I was once so little,
Though mature in the mind.
My heart now brittle
From moments unkind.
And with that
I fell cold,
No warmth for my soul.
My mind
Turned old,
Then my heart fell alone.
With no love,
Nor touch,

From parents of stone.

'Your body is a temple'
Or so it was.
My skin now soiled,

Just because.

A shot in the dark,
A moment of lust.
Leaving me soaked
To the bone,

Just because.

I was your greatest toy,
To pass and toss.
Tears still stream
From moments i've lost.
No reason to find,

But just because.

Within the depths of our minds, clouds may form,
Blocking the sun, causing a mental storm.
But remember, dear soul, after every storm,
A rainbow appears, bringing colors warm.

Through the darkness and the rain,
We find strength to ease the pain.
The clouds may linger, but they will pass,
Leaving behind a rainbow at last.

So hold on tight through the cloudy days,
For the rainbow shines in mysterious ways.
Mental health is a journey, not a race,
Embrace the storms, for they will be replaced..

Clear the path
Of a mind so weak.
Home is near
Though I cannot see.
'Take me,please',
Pray God for ease.
Mouth shut
Outside,
As I try to speak.
Though only my thoughts
Can hear my pleas.
Now worn in exhaust,

From pain not seen.

My mind is windy,
So cold in storm.
Thoughts so violent
They scrape and scorn.
Illness of those
Who freak and fret,
Led to temptation
Of permanent rest.
Locked in frustration
Of guilt and regret.

Succumb to hatred from birth to death.