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Rowan S Jan 2019
Alliteration isn't cheesy
Not for me.
When I use words to stave off the clutching squeeze of
A panic attack
I can write:

"There is pressure on my chest and I feel anxious."
or
"Pain presses me into purgatorial prayers."

Alliteration becomes the stutter into which I
Skid to a stop
Today has been a rough day. Here is me, publicly coping.
3.8k · Jan 2019
Monsters
Rowan S Jan 2019
I fear you
Hyde hiding in plain sight
Jekyll murdered by his creation
His ambition
Gone the way of the monster
Victor's supposed victory
The Jekyll and Hyde/monster archetype shows up a decent amount in some earlier poems of mine, but I don't agree with it anymore. I think it is easier to believe in some kind of hidden, dualistic, "evil" that forces my hand in situations. I simply don't feel like this anymore.
3.1k · Feb 2019
Clarity
Rowan S Feb 2019
**** bookends
**** closure
**** the black and the white

**** the knots
******* neat
Cause that really ain't life

Life's messy
There's dirt
It's not simple and clear

It's the road
It's the journey
And the path you take there
Rowan S Jan 2019
****, ****, ****, ****
Fuzz through the brain
Zapping pain
Through icy passages of panic
Swell, flow, overflowing
With pain, doubt, hate, anger
****
Breathe in, Breathe out
Think about the seat
The air, it's cold
My ears ring
Count from 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
Walls are getting closer, life squeezes
God's cruel fist crushes
Air from my lungs
Thoughts from my brain
LET ME ******* GO
Why am I so broken and insane sometimes?
The ocean draws near in my ears
The shore creeps close, the tide stalks through my canals
Air, water, rushing, getting louder
Pounding, ******* pounding

Someone save me please.
                
                                -the claustrophobic mind
I handle my panic attacks at times by riding the emotions and using writing as a grounding technique. My pen as a conduit to root myself to where I physically am, and not where my mind takes me.

This is from roughly 2 years ago, and I have made so much progress in regards to my mental health management. I rarely, if ever, have panic attacks these days, but I will always remember how it feels to have the walls shrink in your mind.
611 · Apr 2019
Wind and the Willow
Rowan S Apr 2019
The wind that shakes
the willow tree
That slowly bends
the rods and reeds
My iron bones
and sulphured soul
The roots grow fast and deep

I twist, I give
I stretch and flex
The bark, it groans
from sweet duress
I crave your touch
your whispers' true
Oh blow now, through my leaves
517 · Jan 2019
Crossroads Contract
Rowan S Jan 2019
Time is holding out on me
Promising solutions to old conflicts
Granting a reprieve to pain
A contract on her terms
And me, equine-like
Forever chasing the assurance
That one day
I'll wake up
And not have this serpent 'round my heart
But for now
It remains a hair's breadth out of reach

              -a crossroads contract
511 · Jan 2019
High Coup #16
Rowan S Jan 2019
My brain has become
An unavoidable trap
Filled with nostalgia
And nostalgia might as well be a drug, for all its usefulness.
510 · Mar 2019
(paint)
Rowan S Mar 2019
color splashed upon living canvas
a *******'d dalmation
rippling stories speak on
madness
and
journeys
and
peace
495 · Jan 2019
High Coup #21
Rowan S Jan 2019
A nail through the skull
Repeatedly pulsing, hot:
A migraine headache
I have a migraine as I write this. SOOOOOO yeah. Ouch.
488 · Jan 2019
Welcome to my Brain
Rowan S Jan 2019
All the hijacker does is scream
And it is enough.
Blisters burn the brain until
A rancid tinnitus
Washes through my canyons, flooding everything
Total destruction
A later me may find small shells
Evidence that at some point
I lived
I fought
I existed
But for now, I go the way of the dinosaurs
The hijacker is a "character" that makes appearances in several of my poems regarding my panic attacks and anxiety.
Rowan S Jan 2019
It's been long enough now
And enough has been said
Apologies and forgiveness passed back and forth
Like folded middle school notes
Yet here I am

"Ouch, I just bit my cheek."

As I let my rods and cones
Intercept the
Lies and smoke
The electrons radiating from my
Squared, glowing palm

I sigh
And attempt to release stagnant regret
As my mouth fills with the taste
Of
Metal
"Whoops, I just hurt my own feelings."
479 · Jan 2019
The Life Raft
Rowan S Jan 2019
Obsessively focused on black ink swimming from my pen
Keep me floating in this storm
When writing stops, this craft sinks into the frothing waves
Poseiden's domain, beckoning.
Compelled to cling, to coping that only works temporarily
For this well now springs forward only from time spent held back
Dammed up, concrete walls held strong, but defective
This flood
This Flood
THIS FLOOD
I flee, not fight, furtive failings of final flips into the film
Thin membrane, now breached and spilling
Oh god why can't I stop this?
Oh god why can't YOU stop this?
I am done.
Despite dealing with doom, with despair
How strong the maelstrom I now succumb to
I started writing a bunch of stuff about the background of this poem, so heres the gist: it is about EMDR (go look it up), stuffed emotions, PTSD, and I was written on the verge of a panic attack, which escalated into a full blown attack upon completion of this poem.
468 · Feb 2019
High Coup #29
Rowan S Feb 2019
I saw some old friends
Shared old jokes, old memories
All to make new ones
441 · Jan 2019
striped
Rowan S Jan 2019
Most days I forget

That I have black ink marking
The top
Of my thigh

But the days I remember

I touch the
Thickened five stripes
Separate, just below this mark

Reminding me
That the insanity of a past self
Craved the caress of
Sharpened
Metal
More than the memory
That mark
Created
Rowan S Jan 2019
Every noise slithers 'cross
My ear drums with
The cool slickness of a
Sandpaper serpent
My skin pulled tight
'Cross my raw nerves
Nerves
Stretched stiff as a drum skin
Upon which beats this
Percussive tattoo of wild instinct
I clamp my eyes, vice-like
"Please let me wake"
But no
In this misty dream realm
I remain tethered, chained
Stuck in a sarcophagus
               of
Strangled Silence
Waking from a night terror, half in, half out of sleep. Never sure which is reality.
421 · Feb 2019
(sorting us)
Rowan S Feb 2019
I ventured forth, again into the musty canyons
The dark, dank space that is
My past
Or more specifically
Ours.

A perusal reveals:
Hats in boxes, brims unmet by sun in ages
Creased shirts, bands' crests emblazoned bright
Clever titles scrawled in sharpie on silent CDs
And everything coated with brown hair
Crooked and curled as the smile
That I wear presently
Upon this journey

Upon further inspection:
Percussive rhythms, beats tattooed
Into slick skin
A laughing afterthought of intimacy
A private joke shared between us
Among many

The messy box:
Conversations held hostage by anger
Fueled on one side by deceit and fury at the world
While the other fights a war, at another's side: alone
Confusion racking both
Where once there was naught but desire
To care, protect, discover, and journey
Hijacked, a spoiled child upending a puzzle
That his insolence will never allow him the
Solace
Of completing

And the box that releases a torrent of whispers upon opening:
My name
Hands on knees, rage relieved in an instant
Your laugh
At my protruding tongue, a face fraught with focus
Poetry, lilted and simple
About the charm in how I climb stairs

Ending with the lessons:
To seek patience; with the large, and especially the small
To love fully; as they say, time flies
To face fear; naked honesty will conquer this
To rely on; there is no shame in support
To...

The grit of clenched teeth
Overcome by the solace of
Framed reality
I descend the shaking ladder
Leaving behind this echoing forrest
Mist clouded with
Shared impassioned melodies
I have sorted and cleaned enough
I will revisit from time to time

But. In practicing honesty:

I am a living memory of you

For as a sculptor
Slow and methodic with the clay
You have shaped and molded
My very being
And all can see
Your impassioned mark on me
A testament to kindness
Tried, and true
415 · Jan 2019
High Coup #11
Rowan S Jan 2019
The brown liquor creeps
Into the gray crevices
Rye whiskey, you win
Again, here is an old one. Self medication left me in progressively darker and deeper holes. My life is by no means perfect after almost a year and a half of sobriety;

But at least I don't let my problems masquerade as solutions anymore.
391 · Jan 2019
Magnetism
Rowan S Jan 2019
As a paper clip
I've tried to avoid your magnetic pull
Your gentle pull
Flexing me free from my
Long established boundaries
Coaxing me
To break
Free
And now
You softly draw me into your orbit
Undeniable attraction
You are slowly teaching me
I am more
Than my
Hardened
Metal
Curves
377 · Feb 2019
High Coup #32
Rowan S Feb 2019
The marks on my arm
Now hidden, masked by color
History disguised
376 · Jan 2019
High Coup #24
Rowan S Jan 2019
I have now backspaced
Probably, too many times
All for a haiku
Yeah. The creative juices aren't really flowing today.
372 · Jan 2019
F.I.N.E.
Rowan S Jan 2019
I use my shaded 3rd and 4th eyes
To hide indifference
And at times I feel a post-dentist numbness
Across the expanse of my mind
And it begins to seep
Leak
Sneak
Into the marrow and tendons of my being
Hey.
Ask me later if I give a sh*t
Except when I say I don't give a sh*t, I usually do.
371 · Jan 2019
High Coup #4
Rowan S Jan 2019
In a new place now
One last chance to start over
Breathe deep, you got this
After living in 4 states in the last 3 years, I can say with a doubt:

A geographic change could not help me run away from my problems, especially because most of them both internal and external were caused by none other than me.

I carried my issues with me like unnecessary carry on bags across every one of those state lines. I wrote this a day into my most recent state, and the only reason my life has been any different was I finally gave into the idea that enough was enough and I needed to change.
350 · Jan 2019
Oblivion's Kindness
Rowan S Jan 2019
Creeping guilt
Haunting shame
Liquid burn
Checking out now
When my mind won't slow
Distilled rye
Filling the gray canyons, the crevices
Pulsing, swimming fire
Hopes that this poison
This pleasure
Will scorch
And end
This madness
Old poem. I used to drink for many reasons, but ultimately, it was always me searching for oblivion.
346 · Apr 2019
High Coup #34
Rowan S Apr 2019
You end the static
Quiet all the noise inside
My head, now at peace
326 · Jan 2019
Avalon
Rowan S Jan 2019
The mist filled gaps
Of my mind
Leave small open doors
To
Leave
Through
Count down slowly
      And slip
              Away
314 · Feb 2019
Shipwreck Heart
Rowan S Feb 2019
The serpent, slow and winding
Rears its fanged head
As it again constricts the
Leaps and bounds
Of this Shipwrecked Heart
312 · Mar 2019
(statue-esque)
Rowan S Mar 2019
I am a living memory of you

For as a sculptor
Slow and methodic with the clay
You have shaped and molded
My very being
And all can see
Your impassioned mark on me
A testament to kindness
Tried, and true
Pulled from something a recently wrote (and posted). Sometimes the pieces are better than the whole.
303 · Jan 2019
Slanted
Rowan S Jan 2019
Slanted
Why do I slide?
Slide down a rabbit hole, Alice's hole, Layne's hole
A burial of open air, dirt imagined, smothering the thought
that slipping into any other pool besides this self-administered poison
is directed squarely at others, not me, oh god not me.
A brain's bitterness more toxic than vinegar on the tongue
Misery that slimes, oozes, creeps, and constricts every thought
My thoughts, not my own, converting my hands to someone else's
And I watch. Trapped. Sliding down the now speeding *****.
That which stalked and surprised, but I cannot blame.
Cannot predict. Cannot battle. I'm slanted.
Slated to slip down slides of sloth, slowly.
Shredding into sharpening shouts, shifting into panic.
Pleas. Please. Pleasing Pleas.
Can't cope, can't cut, can't control.
Wait. At the bottom is a light.
But whether to heaven or hell
This purgatorial slide carries me all the way
Slanted.
A poem I wrote on the verge of a panic attack. The formatting when I wrote it is quite literally "slanted", and angled diagonally down the page, and the lines were not spaced out. It was stream of consciousness and I had no time to consider poetic merit. I've had to incorporate phrasing based on afterthought. The vast majority of these poems have non-coherent thoughts included in them, and I'm only posting ones that could be seen as still somewhat cogent.

**Layne in this poem is of course a reference to Layne Staley. I had a roommate at this time who played a beautiful cover of the Alice in Chains song "Nutshell, that I was obsessed with.**
301 · Feb 2019
High Coup #30
Rowan S Feb 2019
A good warm flannel
Makes me immensely more pleased
Than most people do
It's flannel Friday.
299 · Jan 2019
High Coup #23
Rowan S Jan 2019
Sometimes you hear words
Spill, careless from peoples' mouths
Their impact, unknown
298 · Jan 2019
Shards
Rowan S Jan 2019
I used to think I was messy broken

Let me explain

Like a stray rock,
chipped from a bat in some sandy back lot
Through a window
Now shattered

Through. Done. Finished.

My splintered little pieces scattered to the winds
And me, running after those small bits
Like they were loose handouts in a windy parking lot
Scrambling to catch hold of
My life
My dignity
My sanity
My love

But

The only way to amend
Is complete replacement

For I am now irreparable
296 · Jan 2019
Twist
Rowan S Jan 2019
When those tired sad songs
Twist to melodies of love
That's when you know
You're in trouble
Wrote this more about brief moments of infatuation distracting you from a previous heart break, rather than about finding another love.

One love will never replace another.
290 · Feb 2019
High Coup #31
Rowan S Feb 2019
I can't think of when
I remembered all my lies
There are too many
Older haiku that I wrote a few years back. I don't live like this anymore, and god, am I grateful for that.
289 · Jan 2019
High Coup #1
Rowan S Jan 2019
What is this self will?
Ignorance at its finest
Digging my heels in
Ignore the pretentious spelling of haiku (it is how I've always titled them in my journals), and enjoy the first of my haikus, which can range from irreverent and carefree to serious and introspective.
287 · Jan 2019
(anger)
Rowan S Jan 2019
Chairs and tables deserve to be
Wrecked
This silent scream
Piercing my brain
Causing mental destruction
Drives my craving to
Mirror this rampage
In the tangible world
Shaking hands that might
Break
Before
Hardened
Wood
and
Plastic
Another old one about the "hijacker in my brain". I never acted on any of these physically destructive urges, but good god were they in my head at times.
286 · Jan 2019
High Coup #15
Rowan S Jan 2019
Tired to the point of
Weighted-sandbags-in-my-bones
That no rest can cure
282 · Jan 2019
High Coup #13
Rowan S Jan 2019
Isolation? Great.
Emotions drive me to ground
Want to yell and curse.
279 · Feb 2019
Sylvia
Rowan S Feb 2019
Manhattan is a symphony
Directed by her laugh
And the lines that trace her battle scars
Begin to fade at last

My Sylvia, you've fought a war
With more life yet to go
But I battle the same demons, dear
Please know you're not alone
275 · Jan 2019
A Looming Pall
Rowan S Jan 2019
When the smoke hits my eyes
Eyes then close
I left long before I last saw you
And your siren memory calls to me
A beckoning to a reckoning
Of
No closure
Smoke billows and stings
Like the memories of what never happened
Memories of maps you drew
Guiding me to my next destination
But
I forgot where I had been
I regret my lack of sight
Perhaps the smoke was in my eyes
Perhaps
That is why
270 · Jan 2019
(just me)
Rowan S Jan 2019
And as I stood
Clothed in my shame
The monster I'd created
Was me
Was mine
And
The most difficult part
Was turning to the mirror
Looking into my eyes
And realizing
There was no Jekyll
There was no Hyde
There was just me
There are so many things I would change/cannibalize from this poem (and I will eventually), but this is the first poem I have recorded that I wrote about the refusal of the Jekyll/Hyde stereotype.

-------"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."--------
268 · Apr 2019
(...beloved pestilence!")
Rowan S Apr 2019
I have ignored the warning signs
teetering, all a' kilter
upon this precipice

to breathe, hard air
a gasp, of frigid life
tip into another one
trip into oblivion

my mornings are strains of
ichor from within
ochored bile an offering
to a porcelain god

an illness slinks
through these
capillaries

sandpaper stress
scrubs my marrow clean
to bleached
pale
bone
266 · Jan 2019
Unhealthy Therapy
Rowan S Jan 2019
Just a glance paints a picture
Images of some other era
Non-existent ideas
That maybe laughed, wept
Danced
Steam rising from slick skin
The starlight illuminating us
Perhaps we found unexplored places
Dined on fabulous food
Lived
Fought
Loved
But.
Here we are
In this circle of broken people
So just a glance
Lets me imagine
Occasionally you write about random people you are in group therapy with, because you still aren't ready to actually deal with your own problems.

I don't really feel this hopeless romanticism anymore, but I started my page with the intention of posting the old with the new as well.
263 · Jan 2019
High Coup #27
Rowan S Jan 2019
Fear in the morning
Feelings fly, flapping and free
Bat-like emotions
Rowan S Mar 2019
Now, I always wait
For the other shoe to drop
Good things aren't for me

But I fight these thoughts
Incumbent storyteller
Perhaps, he is wrong
255 · Jan 2019
High Coup #19
Rowan S Jan 2019
I hide out beneath
The welcome shroud of music
And escape problems
253 · Apr 2019
(in a dark coffee shop)
Rowan S Apr 2019
while I shove sleep
      to the dark corner
i slip more
hard caffeine
through my blooded canals
and ponder

how

the cotton cloth'd
and pastel'd world
now opens up
before me
sleep deprivation and a new relationship make for strange bedfellows
246 · Jan 2019
20/20
Rowan S Jan 2019
I'd like to say
If I'd have stayed
I wouldn't be here now
But truthfully
Inquiring
Will only sink me down
Pass memories
That mock and tease
Ulysses' siren song
The jagged rocks
Seductive talks
Carry my soul along
240 · Jan 2019
Wheel
Rowan S Jan 2019
I need some space
I need some help
I need to put
Thoughts on the shelf
They circle round
My ferris wheel
Dark memories
And fear I feel
240 · Jan 2019
Match Me
Rowan S Jan 2019
Match me in fire
Match me in pain
And if my heart stops
Bring me back
Let's change where we've been
What we've been
Us
To roam and find that all along what we both sought
Was present in the mirror of the other
The same, but completing
Match me
Match me in desire
To hide away in the church of Shakespeare's beast
A sanctuary of naked truth
Unclothed worship
Amen and Hallelujah
Private Bacchanalia
To praise us
Match me
Match me
Save this soul
236 · Jan 2019
cheese fries
Rowan S Jan 2019
i thought about cheese fries

and almost broke down

god d*mn it

this is ridiculous
Old old old "poem". I plan to do more with this juxtaposition of how the mundane memories can be the most heartbreaking (sounded fancy there didn't I?)

I wrote this in the depths of some pretty vicious drinking and self-loathing, years ago post-breakup. Hindsight can be a cruel master, especially if things were your fault, but you don't know how to healthily move past them.
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