Caught on my own breath. On my own words. On my own thoughts.
Like an antelope in the headlights.
In my own headlights. Unable to breath.
I’m shaking, but not only my hands. My heart. My lungs. My Legs.
Everything is quivering like butterfly wings in the wind.
Unable to find a hold on something.
Like a butterfly caught in your net.
I was pinned with your stare.
Painfully and without a second breath.
I charged forwards.
Praying for redemption and grace.
Already knowing my fate.
Looking like something fierce and feeling like something shattered.
Fingers gripping my sleeves.
A drowning girl gripping a lifeline.
Drowning in my own tears.
Oceans of them and still finding hard ground to fall on.
Poetry became a soft place to rest my aching heart. I can be whoever I want to be in a poem. And in these poems, I’m caught in my own life/mind. I’m trying -and failing- to find a soft and dry place to rest. To be comfortable with myself and not choke on my own spit out in public.
Thanks to everyone who was understanding and so very kind about me leaving blogging. It means the world to me that there are people who care in a way I thought some of you didn’t. Thank you!
You might want to read: Um. . . I’m not dead | It Snowed where I talk about my blogging choices and some future updates about what I’m going to be doing.
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