Looking for Home

I used to be so at home on these pages.

Now I feel like a stranger wherever I go.

I could really come alive,

words were the only way to quench my thirst, sometimes

dripping, trickling

but often gushing, streaming

life-giving water for my deadness, a current

so straight and true I could always connect

anything that once seemed wayward, meaningless.

I would just feel whole, purged of the stains

of Haphazard emotions and Disastrous thoughts

Even now I am not free.

This writing is jilted

I always have to force myself to this page

Because I don’t want to face this pain

Not pain of the actual writing

But the catapulting piercing and raging pains of judgment

The judgements of this writing and of my soul behind it

Trying to scramble together any small thing I know about myself

I am so lost when I’m not broken

Because when I AM broken (again)

no one sees me as that anymore including myself

No more excuses for me.

Write the dead words

Pick up the pierce pulsating head

Move your weary body

Choose from your plethora of skills to combat that anxiety

Don’t ever let that negative thought win the battle

You can take the pain

You will push through this migraine

You will find a soft place to lay your head

A quiet haven for your restless mind

If you just look hard enough

I wish I could just forget, forget how to fight

So I could give myself a break for once

Sometimes I feel so trapped in my today, yesterday

And tomorrow

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