Finally, finally

A darkness had been looming,
perhaps only since the last of the leaves had fallen,
but likely since months before when the world had only just finished blooming,
or even way back when at the time of the first “all in.”

This darkness loomed only so long,
until one day I could scarcely separate my own image from its shadowy grasp,
and suddenly I, along with the rest of the world from my dimmed perspective, felt completely and unequivocally wrong;
with each memory, each realization, each throb of pain would come a gasp.

In this time of darkened reality,
I found myself running on autopilot—breathing, existing, surviving, but only just—
ever resisting the urge to flee,
externally a person, internally dust.

Until finally, finally
Until finally, oh wondrous finally
The shadow that had once obscured me, had split my very being in two
Mercifully disintegrated to reveal my vibrant shades of blue
And finally, finally, I found happiness too

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She, Me, We

Every hour on the hour

For months and months

The process repeats

Seventeen minutes of peace, of distraction

Fourteen minutes of pain, of reminders

Thirteen minutes of panic, of heartbreak

Sixteen minutes of recovery, of numbness

A sixty minute roller coaster, ridden over and over and over again

Every hour on the hour

For months and months

Until one day, she just isn’t quite herself

Until one day, she realizes she hasn’t been quite herself

For hours upon hours, months upon months

 

Herself is me and myself is her

 

We are lost

 

She looks in the mirror and sees what looks like us

She opens her mouth and hears what sounds like us

She tells a joke and finds a sense of humor that seems like ours

She knows our past, our present, our future, our values, everything

 

Whenever she needs me, she can find me

 

But when no one’s around, when she is her quiet self, she is a shell

 

A shell that won’t let me in, in spite of all the room

 

She is numb, yet she feels the weight of our emotions pushing against her fragile walls

She is numb, yet she misses me

She is numb, for without numbness she can’t, and with it she can

She is numb, she is numb, she is numb, until she isn’t

 

She is our vessel and our academic, logical mind

 

I am our soul and our emotional, compassionate mind

 

She is broken. I am broken. We are broken.

Grey

*This is just a little something I wrote about a year ago that I found and wanted to put on here:)*

Sometimes, all I see is grey. I see a grey past, a grey present, and an infinitely grey future. Sometimes, that grey fades to a lusterless white as life ceases to make any sense. Other times, it darkens to a menacing black as I lose sight of everything and see only that darkness which seems to consume my every thought. In these times of painful neutrality, all I want is the vibrance of color. I want to see the luscious green of the land and striking blue of the sky in the summer. I want to see the fiery yellows, oranges and reds that grace the world in the fall. I want to see the pale blue and weak yellow of the winter sky and sun. I want to see the fresh greens and blooming pinks of the spring. I want to see the changing colors of every sunrise and sunset. Sometimes, I see all of these colors and I feel nothing; I feel none of the magic that they can sometimes elicit, none of the emotions they can sometimes inspire; I feel nothing. It’s as if I’m stuck in a world of black, white, and every shade in between; I’m stuck in a world where I see beauty and I feel nothing.

Numbness

Numbness is a very dangerous thing;
It may take away the sting,
but to be cold as ice
is quite a hefty sacrifice.

To be numb is to miss out on love,
to feel nothing at the sight of the most beautiful dove,
to feel nothing at the sight of the blooms of spring,
to feel nothing at the symbol of a diamond ring.

To be numb is to feel nothing at all,
to grow as careless as a portrait on a wall,
to become reckless with one’s own life,
to come too close to the blade of a knife.

To be numb is to feel no pain,
to feel none of the agony of an angst-filled brain.
It is in this way that numbness appears to suffice,
but it is never the answer to an emotional vice.

With numbness comes a new sort of feeling,
a lost sense of self without a chance of healing,
an apathy of agony
and unbeatable gravity.

Numbness is a very dangerous thing;
It may take away the sting,
but to be cold as ice
is quite a hefty sacrifice.

 

 

 

Thorns

Thorns, though they may appear small,

have a disposition ever so tall.

Harmless though they may seem,

their true ferocity hides just beneath each wicked scheme.

 

One becomes so engrossed in the beauty of the pedals,

they seem to forget all about those pesky little devils.

Enraptured by the scent, prick after prick goes undetected,

as the attractive aesthetic and fragrance are lethally complected.

 

The scarlet shades of each and every rose they so adorn

act as a masked foreshadowing of the shades of scarlet to be worn

once the fragile skin has been torn

at the inevitable touch of each and every deadly thorn.

 

Each prick, while in itself appears ever so harmless,

is a crucial part of a far greater plot of darkness

in which the frenzied fragrance fills one’s lungs with a poison of such lethal affliction

And the pitiless pricks fill one’s bloodstream with a substance of pure addiction.

 

At the break of the spell, one can feel the sting,

can see plainly the pools of red as they cling,

but the deed is done, and one finds themselves returning for more and more each day,

living at the mercy of the red rose until they reach the grave in which they must forever stay.

 

The scarlet shades of each and every rose these thorns so adorn

act as a masked foreshadowing of the shades of scarlet to be worn

once the fragile skin has been torn

at the inevitable touch of each and every deadly thorn.

Time Stops

The moments when you find yourself forgetting to breathe,

the moments when you find yourself unable to think, and

the moments when you leave all sense of practicality behind;

these are the moments when time ceases to exist.

 

To you, in these glorious moments and all of their euphoric grace,

time stops.

 

The moments when the emotion overwhelms you,

the moments when the heat consumes you, and

the moments when the sound of your heart beating faster and faster is all you can hear;

these are the moments when time ceases to exist.

 

To you, in these wonderful moments of clarity and of contradictory confusion,

time stops.

 

The moments of blissful peace that you will always cherish,

the moments of safety, of certainty, of feeling at home, and

the moments of such pure, absolute and irrevocable love;

these are the moments when time ceases to exist.

 

To you, in these awe-inspiring moments of the deepest and most powerful emotion on earth,

time stops,

 

and your beautiful sunshine never stops shining.

Finding Joy

Tears,

full of pain and sorrow,

fall down my face in streams,

accompanied by gasps and sniffles as I sob silently into my hands.

 

Loneliness

in a room full of people,

a room full of people who make me feel like less,

who make me feel out of place, different, abnormal.

 

Alone

in a place where no one can hear my cries,

in my bittersweet retreat from reality,

but somewhere that loneliness still finds me.

 

Love,

the strongest, most beautiful feeling in the world,

is my only escape, my only salvation,

the only place where loneliness can’t seem to find a crack.

 

Afraid,

afraid every day that I will lose that salvation,

that I will lose it and fall apart,

that I will fall apart and never be able to put the pieces back together again.

 

Happy,

happy to love, happy to be loved, happy to be in love,

happy through the fear, happy through the ever-creeping loneliness,

happy through the pain and sorrow of my tears,

 

because, in life, what is there to do but fight through the sadness and find the joy?