Tag: image

I’m Back

What happened to me?

 

When did I decide to give up my soul for a copy?

Copying words and phrases that match the people standing next to me—

And when did I stop myself from being?

 

I can’t think of a moment when I put my wants above someone else—

So I’m reminded that I’ve forgotten how to see myself.

And everything around me seems so grey

That I don’t even know if my likes are mine,

Or just another way

I’ve conformed to find commonality with others.

 

Now I’ve become the stranger. 

 

I look at my image and see pieces thrown together from

other places, other faces,

almost looking natural, 

But something doesn’t add up.

I don’t add up. Not in this way.

 

Because I’m constantly giving and taking away from who I am—

Giving into demands,

Giving up on my plans,

Taking on image after image hoping that they will fit me,

But this is not living.

 

I need to be comfortable in my own skin, so I am choosing myself this time.

I choose to listen to folky tunes blaring from my stereos, no headphones 

 

I choose the place with country food, like cornbread and tomatoes from home.

 

I choose to continue to write down my experiences and speak with honesty,

Connecting my wants and dreams with no apologies.

 

I choose to love the person I can be when no one else  is watching,

 

And I choose to break down each piece I took on in hopes that someone would accept me.

 

I choose to be.

 

I’m scared of the thought of someone seeing me, but it scares me more to lose myself completely, 

So I will stop and listen to the voice inside of me—

 

I choose me.

Suffocating

This isn’t what I asked for.

I asked for freedom and confidence to open my hands and catch promises,

But I feel crushed by a suffocating loneliness that bids me to go to bed.

My eyes close and I let the darkness fall in on all sides,

because I realize I am afraid of myself.

I am not content with sitting up at night, listening to music,

Writing in a bed made for one person.

There’s this empty space beside me, cold and unloving,

Reminding me of a time when it was filled.

Now I’m filled to the brim with emotions,

Holding my face in my hands,

Wishing he was here to listen.

But I am quick to forget how it felt when he listened.

He listened to speak,

So he could tell me the image he wanted my body to portray.

He pulled me into his world and eclipsed mine in a blanket of

Black and white devoid of any of the color I created.

So I trade a warm body for solitude,

And tell myself I am strong, and I can be strong alone.

The Lack of

I have a block in my mind that weighs the rest of my body down

Until I am buried beneath the ground

Blinded by my apathy and self-doubt.

The block causes build up in my brain with random strains of words

That mean nothing–

It only cause my nerves to stay in the past tense of things

As I replay days over and over again

Until I feel sorry and sick

From my remembering and retelling of stories that have ended.

I don’t want any part of this collage of faulted thought,

But I can’t erase my mind block.

It overwhelms my ability to remove the piece stopping me

From moving forward–

So I am cursed to relive dead end passages

As I sink farther beneath the beginning.

Abstract Artist

I’m in love with a stranger.

He is a painter.

He paints in articulate words and vivid colors,

And I find comfort in his unfamiliarity–

It captures my image of what bold should be–

Like the edges of his skin when I touch him–

But he stands behind a door without a number,

And it rests at the end of my sight,

So I continue to move towards something that is, and isn’t, there.

I am in love with a stranger,

And he is a painter.