It comes and goes in waves
The thoughts of my past
Some nights it quietly passes
While other nights my trauma will drag me down
And drown me
Telling me my identity
And screaming what I’m worth

being honest with yourself is that little devil
sitting on your shoulder.
you know it’s not your fault, but that’s so hard
to admit.

you blame yourself to please everyone.
sometimes,
it almost becomes believable.
and you think,

“what if i don’t blame myself?
what would she say?
is it really my fault?”

being honest with yourself is that little devil
sitting on your shoulder.
honest with yourself, meaning
calling yourself a **** for things out of your control.

it’s almost like other people’s opinions matter
more than your own feelings.

honesty isn’t always the best policy.

why couldn’t i have just kept my mouth shut?

I am the plant and you are the gardener
My leaves are limp
I try to stretch towards the sky with all my might but the little water you bestowed upon me to help me grow was almost like gasoline meant to **** my vibrant dance
I am the little girl and you are the father
I sat on your shoulders to know what it was like to stand tall
I asked you to walk slower so i could follow your footsteps
As i skipped, and walked, and hiked far behind I never felt your hand reach for mine to pull me by your side
My garden was large my soil was gold
But the seeds you used to plant for me broke in the palm of your hand
Whenever you felt the need to prove you were the man
With every purse of your lip, with every vein in your temple, the fire in your voice as you pricked at my flaws ripped my leaves, they crumbled and fell
Now I'm the woman and they are the man
I use them as the fountain to seek the water you didn't drip
I use their puddle as a mirror to process my own reflection
I search the hug you never stretched to give
I long for the feeling that my branches are not too much to carry

I am a heart searching for a pulse
The courage to look a man in the eye and not be blinded by fear
The will to give my soul to another and not feel triggered to retreat
The strength to embrace the soil on my feet, find my stance firm on the ground
Be head to head, chest to chest with a man I see
And whisper unapologetically, "*******, this is me"

You were the gardener that didn't water my seeds
I am the woman who will nurture my leaves

a clock to the head
   triggers a seismic action

all that was needed

dot-dashed
        into a surplus world

workings adapt
  to another set of living signals

view is challenged
and readings
       from the assigned past
                  are unfocused

ideas of what's to become
         are vague as a dreamers ordinances

              challenged is the stream
              challenged is the lifeboat
                              and
               challenged is the dream

love flares up
        in foreign places
and fears are accounted
        sworn and radiant
set proud where they were all along

you wish
   above all else
to grow tomatoes
and jar tomatoes
and sell tomatoes

you are flawed
       to be
more honest

your outlook is true
and your fellow players
and your previous established family
are unable to ward you

you feel sore for others
and their incapacitated priorities

new company is needed

seek others
who may have had
a similar clap to the cranium

                            - the Forget Me knot

I used to want him to love me
So I'd pretend that he was my dad
Now I know that his kind of love was wrong
He was very evil, very bad

The cold breeze
hits me, everytime
like never before
The darkness,
haunts me
the same way
my thoughts made me
an insomniac
The fog,
opened my eyes
nevertheless, I was blind
I have to remind myself
nature amazes me
On the shore of that same beach
I remember;
childhood traumas
misery
that time I wanted to vanish
and never be found again
But this time,
I didn’t cry
I didn’t shiver
I didn’t lose hope
I stood there
and accepted the truth
I merged my feet
with the cold water
I looked at the sky
So vivid, so blue
I knew it wasn’t always
the mediocrity of the universe
It was many things, at once
And I kept it to myself.

She is existing between life and death.
Most "waking" moments feel like a dream,
and days pass like coming of age movie montages.
Only she is not the main character.
She is a side character whose only purpose is to be in a scene to further the plot.
But where do characters go once they've served their purpose?
Are they doomed to a life frozen in time watching the main characters live their happily ever afters?
Or do they cease to exist the moment no spotlight is on them?
The answer eludes her.
Despite being in the best position to know who she is, she remains clueless.
She was forced into a flat character arc so early on that she felt that it was easier to comply rather than to experience more trauma trying to resist.
She serves her purpose being one thing.
The geek.
Or the nice girl.
Or the outcast.
Or the *****.
But never all at once.
Never can she exhibit more than one trait.
After all of the titles given to her by others she merely accepted them as who they are.
Why try to define yourself when others are going to do it for you, she thought?
Because she was one thing she could never develop further.
Her character arc was flat.
She wasn't allowed acquaintances, friends, or partners that weren't determined before her use expired.
She was forced into the place between life and death alone.
Forced to watch both life and death alone.
And forced to experience the numbness alone.

I've had it for so long,
this sadness,
that it almost feels like
a second skin.
Some days it speaks like me,
it acts like me,
it becomes me,
it is me.

But, I am not my sadness,
although it dwells on,
unyielding.
I am not what happened to me.
I am not my hurt.

I am still becoming.