A little thing I did for a friend who was freaking out
A little thing I did for a friend who was freaking out
I realized today that I have to change. I keep doing what I’m doing I’ll keep getting one getting and I don’t want it. The lifestyle change. The behaviors, the bad habits, priorities. They have to change. Why is changed so hard? Is so utterly necessary.
Trying to learn the game here people….
This poem was written while I was working through some of the damages of my past. I’m normally a little shy to share poems because I think most Internet poets are vain-glorious self promo ppl. ( so I’m not sure what a bad thing to be honest. Maybe I need to rethink it lol)
But if it’s a blessing to anyone then its worth sharing. :-)
None would pay a price for me,
So I shall not be sold.
A challis made of clay am I,
And scorned by vessels gold.
I’d send my soul to auction block,
If ought I thought to gain.
But none would for adulteress,
Pay any naught but shame.
I am a wicked, faithless whore,
I’ve shattered my own cup.
And shall I with my punctured hand,
The jagged shards pick up?
The dagger is not meant to wound,
But wounded me it has.
And yet that sin is at my door,
For weakness when a lass.
I’ve tried to mend my womanhood,
It was my one desire.
But left I was upon a rock,
Abandoned by messiah.
Now on this boulder I am crushed,
My fingers cannot cling,
To any shred of windy Hope,
Who rides phoenix wing.
As here as I make a prayer to die,
A shadow struck my mind,
I lifted splitting skull to face,
Two women and a hind.
The hind was gleaming silver bright,
One woman great with child.
The other had a shriveled face,
With eyes sedate but also wild.
The hind cried forth in bitter words;
“They’ve banished me from thee.
They stole my maidenhood’s pure cup!
And cleansed it cannot be!”
The mother soon to be declared,
Their evil mars my womb.
For once where there was life and dreams,
Now echoes lifeless tomb.”
And then they both began to weep,
And though I knew not why,
I let my tear drops fall and splash
Like rain forsaking sky.
The wizened woman watched the woe,
Her face turned grim and gray.
“Shut up!” She shrieked. “You foolish thing!”
“Shut up and make them pay!”
“There is no vengeance cruel enough,
But in this life go through.
For in savaging of you challis,
They wronged we three in you!”
“No whole made cup is ever wrought,
As lovely and as dear,
As one once powderized by force,
Remade by conquered fears.”
And they she struck my broken cup,
A blow so hard yet kind.
I felt a fire stir within,
Where ice did long abide.
And low! I saw a miracle,
As this new power grew.
My ruined challis was replaced,
With one of pearly hue.
It was a beauty in myself,
That never had I known.
I turned with tears of deepest thanks,
To seek the wrinkled crone.
Yet not a one of them remain,
And yet my heart new why.
With blatant laughter, boundless joy,
I screamed into the sky.
“I need no favor from the blade,
My womb is full, my heart is bold.
No dagger can my value pay!
And I shall not be sold!”
I tried following a lot of young fashion type blogs here with the intention of learning how to dress younger and prettier.
This to say about that:
There is nothing fashion designers think young women should be wearing that I even like.
Back to trusting my instincts. And a deliberate *don’t fuck* to the old men telling me other wise
I’m so exhausted tonight.
My body hurts.
My muscles ache.
I have bruises literally from head to foot thanks to my dance routine today. ( I am one of the most enthusiastic but certainly not the most graceful of the students in my class.)
I know that I worked hard today. And I know that I made progress. That makes me feel good about myself. But at the same time…
Here I am sitting on the sofa, working on the gainful employment portion of my life, and I feel guilty somehow.
Everything in me screams at that I should still be working.
I should be writing a song.
I should be writing a poem.
I should be hooking up my equipment and recording demos. (Although admittedly my neighbors might not like my singing passionately at 2 a.m. in the morning.)
But I’m too tired. I’m so tired.
I hate the fact that my energy is depleted.
The simple truth is that I genuinely love to work. I love to work out and learn to dance. I love to sing. I love to meet people and make connections and networking. I love to write songs. I love to work on performance. I really truly love work, more than I love anything else in life including sleep.
Tonight it just has me in tears that I simply don’t have the energy to keep going.
It’s insane. And I know that.
It is not reasonable for me to expect myself to work 24/7 without a break.
But I do want to.
I’m trying hard to forgive myself for what is not a sin.
The rational part of my mind tells me that I’ll finish my night shift, go to bed, get a good rest, and be up to work again tomorrow.
My darlings, I want you to know how absurd I feel. I’m terrified if I don’t use every ounce of my life for you then I may entirely fail in some way.
I used to feel that failure for my own sake but now I feel obligated to keep the promises I made to everyone who believes in me.
There’s a little year old girl in Minnesota who made me posters and brought me cupcakes at the first concert ever performed. Her uncle assures me that she still asks about me two years later.
There are my two best friends, Amanda and Holly, who have invested substantial amount of their personal life force in me.
There’s my family, who although they can openly admit believing in me because of religious reasons, take every opportunity they can to say they are praying for me to prosper and succeed.
They are the people who message me to let me know that something I did encourage them.
I have so many conflicting fears about letting these people down at the same time that maybe no one really cares about what I have to say.
I think my way of handling that is to be a workaholic.
Even though I do genuinely love the work I have to admit it is also an escape from fear.
But I will go on. I will do my work. I will get my rest. And I will pick back up with music tomorrow morning.
Thank you for your prayers. Thank You creator for renewing my energy through sleep and achievement.
If I knock on the door long enough, I know that God will open it.
Evidently all my butt needed to start looking like a real nice piece of Beyoncéness was two hoop classes and some protien.
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(Sorry for posting so much today!)