Writing in the Dark – A Poet's Pen

Letting Go

This marks the first day I left work-stress and lack of balance at the door.

Today was different.

The sky opened up and let out the deepest downpour–

Like the earth was saying, “It’s time to let it go…”

But I didn’t know how, so I closed my eyes

And listened as the peaceful sound of rain

Washed the stains of my memories away.

What does it mean to let go?

Nature makes it look so easy,

But my mind likes to complicate things.

I’ve let this ball of insecurity stay in the pit of my stomach

As words like “job security” and “responsibilitiy”

Weigh me down in this back pack filled with bricks and blank books.

I want to take it off, dig a hole, and tuck it away from the rest of the world,

Because no one deserves to feel the burden of that weight

Or see the damage it has caused.

Loss

I feel a loss—

But loss sounds a lot like lack.

Lack of security

Lack of confidence in my identity

And lack of consistent thinking,

Because I am losing a sense of self

By searching for belonging in someone else.

Loss sounds a lot like help.

I want someone or something to help me find the words I need

To validate my emotions and expression

Because I am used to asking permission

For those things.

Loss sounds a lot like death.

Like something in me has died, and I can’t find myself

My words and movements are repetitions I use to look like everybody else

Too afraid or scared to say a word that will turn into an argument I am not ready to fight

Loss sounds a lot like my thoughts,

A mixture of chaos and movement,

In a constant wave of up and down

As I try to figure out what is

And what is not.

Loss is myself.

I haven’t figured out how to see myself through a lens that isn’t clouded by “good” or “bad” judgments.

I haven’t felt the self esteem rising through my bloodstream to remind me of my wholeness.

The only piece of me that feels confident is expressing my lack of it in my writing.

Don’t Leave Me in the Dark

Sometimes I smile out of habit.

I don’t notice when it’s dishonest,

Because I’m so used to convincing myself it’s true.

You can fake it so much that it turns into your reality,

Even when you are pretending.

But sometimes pretending seems more familiar to me than reality.

I continue repeating and hearing the sound over and over again—

Feeling the stretch across my skin—

Feeling the void of emotion—

“Please forgive me.”

My thoughts cry for forgiveness from this notion

That I will never be good enough to

Measure up and be the version of perfect

I want to see—

Or feel in my body.

Maybe perfection would give me peace,

Or maybe it would destroy me completely.

1 2 3

I need time to breathe

Or to time my breaths

By 1…2…3

But the counting creates a mood of apathy

and emptiness

Like I can’t stay awake like this—

And I’ve missed the reason

For methodically breathing

In and out.

It’s broken down for peace,

Not destructive thoughts

That beat up my heart,

But slow beats so I can stop and think,

And count to slow down every word racing

In my mind.

I want to stop hiding behind a glass wall.

I don’t want to wait for it to fall

Just so I can tip toe around the glass pieces

Holding distorted reflections of what I used to be.

Or how people see me.

1…2…3…

I don’t care what they think.

I care about finding the light behind the door I closed 4 years ago.

I care about holding time close as I think about the future I don’t know.

1…2…3…

I know what I need.

I need to stop thinking, keep counting, and move into the place that is meant for me.

I want to be free.

Messy

I am a mess.

My mind stops working and my words start falling

Out of my mouth like the clumsy ramblings

Of a middle school girl who doesn’t know

How to talk to boys yet.

I feel the corners of my mouth move involuntarily

When I look at you and see you smile.

Fire brushes my fingers when I touch your hair

Or hold your hand

And feel warmth creep up my body,

But I know I am holding onto borrowed time.

I am used to being the one leaving–

Jumping from state to state like a nomad

With no sense of place,

But my movement hits pause while yours hits play in a new city,

And I am met with this restless uncertainty

That settles over me as days grow shorter, nights longer,

And sleep fades away.

I don’t want you to fade, so I’ll keep my eyes open

And concentrate on the soft lines of your face

And the crooked way your mouth grins

As if you’re up to something.

I’ll trace my fingers over the parts of you

That give me warmth, comfort,

And a space to fit my body in some part of the living.

I’m going to miss walking with you while the city falls silent

Beneath old stone buildings and bell towers.

I’ll miss the ramen noodles with karaoke

And late night movies that went on for hours.

I’ll miss this span of time between the spaces of your fingers,

but I like this piece I get to have for now.

And when now turns into then,

I’ll remember the moments

When I listened to your voice in a city asleep.