I am not a writer
But I wrote a story in first grade
In a journal that my teacher gave to me
He said, write.
But I am not a writer.
I wrote a poem when I was 16
And then I wrote some more
Sometimes on a napkin
Or the back of a receipt
I told myself again
I am not a writer
Even now
As the words force themselves out of me
Their refusal to stay silent I can no longer ignore
I tend to their urgency to be written
I am not a writer
But I keep on writing anyhow
It’s hard to hold someone else’s hand when your own has been a clenched fist far too long.
My christian mother says, “Give it all to God”
And I reply, “I already have”
I allow pride to speak for me.
Why?
I want to talk about things that messed me up while growing up.
I want to point out those who took advantage of me.
I want to tell you how foolish I was to believe the lies.
But I don’t want to be the person who drags around her damage anymore.
I want to let my hurt go.
Along with all the weighing anger.
I want to give it wings and watch it fly far away from me.
And I am getting there.
I fight myself everyday.
I shy away from those feelings.
The same feelings that keep me from opening up.
I need air!
but this time,
I actually feel like I’m breathing a little bit.
I feel immediate relief when I finally free the words caged inside of me.
But until then, I’m cloudy.
I feel a constant rush.
It steals my sleep the way it is at this very moment.
It doesn’t even ask to be perfect, just heard.
I try to ignore it in fear that I won’t get it right.
It’s not going to make sense.
And sometimes fear wins.
The urgency gets ignored.
But always,
not long after,
I begin to feel it in my chest again.
Pounding and begging me to let it out.
What do you want to say?
I want to say it all.
So that’s what I’m trying to do.
I’m trying to be free.
Because this,
this refuses to be locked up anymore.
I hate being in love.
I rather be alone.
I have no control.
But this heart decided to be yours.
I hesitate to write about love.
But you make it easy.
I try not to be so vulnerable.
But you make that easy too.
You are the rhythm in my heart I so desperately need to turn into words.
The love I have for you wishes to be heard.
I’ll write you sweet poems, I’ll shut the fear out.
I’ll write my hearts melody that fear won’t let me sing out loud.
I keep thinking a breakthrough is bound to happen soon. Something big, something life changing. There’s no way I feel this low only to remain this low. Scrolling through staying strong quotes and they all say the same thing: better days lie ahead, tough times don’t last, hard times mean better times are coming, etc. I read in vain because do I truly believe any of that? My mind then takes me to that place I so often visit… the guilt, the self pity. Wondering if this is how I should feel.. if this is the shitty end I deserve. I push the thoughts away, maybe this is depression? Is a person conscious of being depressed? All I know for certain is that I am tired. Very, very tired. Maybe this has to do with my insecurities, the low self esteem, my constant doubt. Where do I start? Where do I begin? Tell me where my acceptance lies so I can go pick it up and use it as armor. An armor against this inner voice that convinces me I’m not good enough.
is that my nightmares become reality.
That my karma makes it appearance.
That I live the life I deserve.
That I fall so deeply and irrevocably in love with you, and in return you break my heart.
I fear you.
I fear the power you unknowingly hold on me, the one I won’t dare talk to you about.
I fear your absense.
I fear that my guilt has rooted itself so deep that it will never allow me to move forward.
I fear the past. The future. The unknown.
I fear your confirmation to what I already know.
lovebuzzedwithliz 