When you think and think and think
and yet find yourself rooted
to the same spot

(you’ve thought yourself into stagnation)

fight or flight has become fright

suspended between awake and asleep

life and living

hiding and revealing

(thinking… and some more thinking)

She sits on her bed wondering if she will ever get better.
Ever BE better.
She wonders if her choices and emotions are her fault
Or a product of something deeper.
She stares at herself in the mirror
and wonders
If her tired eyes were caused by the torrent of tears, or instead, if they were caused by life's tolls.
But,
What she doesn't know,
Is that the only person who sees her in this way
Is herself.
She
Is only the underdog
To herself.

It took
an elevator ride
to realize
and notice
the ups and downs
of regular days
and that's a good thing
for my darling
you have not
stagnated
yet

Is it the things we do or those we don't?
the memories we cherish or ones that haunt?
the roads we took or those we feared?
Is it the mistakes we made when we veered?
the books we read and smiled, or chapters left untouched?
forgiveness or thousand grudges piled?Is it open doors or the latched?
Is it flowers which bloomed or those whilst tender fell?
Is it the Friends we made or those we lost, the beloved or the loathed
the milestones or the failures, the laugh or the rivers of tears
is it the reality or the Alias, our maturity or the years
is it Comedy or tragedy?
Is it unity we deserve or the drifting apart?
Is it healing or breaking millions a heart?
Is it transformation or stagnation while time goes?
Is it the peace that once was or the Wars?
*what's humanity?

Taken, this only route to the back of something blacker.
I left my fingernails to protest in the floorboard,
stuck, sticking still
white headstones for things I cannot remember.
Pale ghosts of my
tenacity
before it strode cross the threshold into a gentle night.

I piled like garbage in the corner,
an anthill
phenomenally empty.
This, my house of skin,
ice dispensers and salt,
brewing something foul,
I inflate, churning charcoal

in the corner,
out the door,
heaving hell.