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.

People Need a Melody

I feel weight on my body,

But my mind is awake and waiting.

 

I feel hope.

Small, but it grows and makes each step lighter—

Like I’m lighting a fire

And searching for the spark that’s starts a flame—

 

I will wait.

 

I don’t want to sink into this feeling I have —

I want to bring the present to my past.

 

I’ve lived in the past long enough that it’s touched

The parts of me living in the now—

Not then, not at the end, but give me a beginning I can touch.

 

I want to feel loved.

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.