Poem volume
I sat here reading over volumes of old poems. So many lost in childish dreams of an eighteen year old girl. So many pieces leading up to the breaking point of high school and the new borders of college. Here in this midriff of life I see the growing I truly began.
These tight volumes of words flew across pages. So many stanza and so many forms. Truly a wonder we still have paper available.
In truth I see myself. The darkness that leaked and the pain I held. The freedom and the flight I took just to fight for who I was to become. The differences that made the grittiness stick.
These are the words that made or broke me in a thunder and storm of tears. I either lived or I died.
And I chose to keep moving.
The advancements of life paraded across my stained lines to try to corrode the very blood I cleaned. And I halted each part. Severed myself from what was real and what was family.
This branch of life was beaten to thin sticks and yet I welded myself to heal. Who does that alone? Who stands on their feet and cuts the umbilical cord from all that is known as a connection, to just breathe? To just take those first steps, steady and solo?
And through these journals I see the ups and downs. I see the tears and cuts. Even more I see the betrayal and severance.
But also I see the words of love.
As I travelled do an through the volumes I note the skips in years. Trading experiences for notes.
To this day I have scars welded deep within me. Bitter to choke on but they help me survive. And as I sit with the most recent of parchment I can't help but see my cycle of trust, hope, love, hurt, despair and strength. Each time I fall I get back up. I find that root to intertwine and mesh to make a new breed.
A new me. One more stain soaked into my skin. Made of invisible ink that only seen through life as memories. That is how I began.
Tiny. Unimagined. Multiple issues scored across my veins. Yet I am resilient. My goal to thrive shocked all.
And to this day every inch of me shocks. Thunder. Lightning resides w within me. So as I sit here glancing over the loss of people I still recall my memories.
Loving each one. One by one unfolding a new part of me. Just as I drop another poem to formed lines.
These tight volumes of words flew across pages. So many stanza and so many forms. Truly a wonder we still have paper available.
In truth I see myself. The darkness that leaked and the pain I held. The freedom and the flight I took just to fight for who I was to become. The differences that made the grittiness stick.
These are the words that made or broke me in a thunder and storm of tears. I either lived or I died.
And I chose to keep moving.
The advancements of life paraded across my stained lines to try to corrode the very blood I cleaned. And I halted each part. Severed myself from what was real and what was family.
This branch of life was beaten to thin sticks and yet I welded myself to heal. Who does that alone? Who stands on their feet and cuts the umbilical cord from all that is known as a connection, to just breathe? To just take those first steps, steady and solo?
And through these journals I see the ups and downs. I see the tears and cuts. Even more I see the betrayal and severance.
But also I see the words of love.
As I travelled do an through the volumes I note the skips in years. Trading experiences for notes.
To this day I have scars welded deep within me. Bitter to choke on but they help me survive. And as I sit with the most recent of parchment I can't help but see my cycle of trust, hope, love, hurt, despair and strength. Each time I fall I get back up. I find that root to intertwine and mesh to make a new breed.
A new me. One more stain soaked into my skin. Made of invisible ink that only seen through life as memories. That is how I began.
Tiny. Unimagined. Multiple issues scored across my veins. Yet I am resilient. My goal to thrive shocked all.
And to this day every inch of me shocks. Thunder. Lightning resides w within me. So as I sit here glancing over the loss of people I still recall my memories.
Loving each one. One by one unfolding a new part of me. Just as I drop another poem to formed lines.
Comments
Post a Comment