misunderstood

I used to keep all of my feelings nuzzled inside, and when they seeped out, I learned to joke to explain it all.

Charm them!

Or:

I’d fight to say bare minimum.

Walls.

Highly sensitive, I didn’t know how to put words to feelings.

Too many feelings!

I sat in my front yard and ran my fingers across the grass. Nature understood me.

Calm.

It was in these states of stillness I didn’t need to be understood.

There I felt a divine connectedness.

Temporary feelings felt trivial.

Words, unnecessary.

“Misunderstood” is pushing too hard to think I am so different I must not be human.

Confused states pass.

I understand.

Be Alone

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I love quarantine.

in a world led by people sickly obsessed with temporary things — having undistracted time alone is a connection with your soul.

“do you love yourself?” is not a complex question, yet it is feared. in their fearfulness, they confuse being alone with loneliness. codependency over self-reliance.

independence is self-love through mindfulness, through the mutual support received and given, through the knowledge you’re part of a greater but flawed whole.

imperfect humans needing mending from what isn’t healed is our continuous journey. anxiety manifests as a need to control.

time alone teaches you’re only in control of yourself.

release, let light in — Be Alone.

beginnings

new beginnings

wait for us to

keep an open mind.

they sit at the steps

until we squeeze past

them to the door.

singing to us these

impressive, impending

triumphs. “be brave.”

we don’t listen. we are rebel

children without strategy.

we live with anger.

pride as our dishonest guide.

black paint on our walls.

we haul buckets of burgundy

and splash all that we were

given. destroying everything

because we feel we deserve

nothing.

tainted our gifts.

we color our dark hair gold.

replicas

of those against the revolution.

the revolution is self love,

says the approaching

beginnings. they lean in.

angels disguised as ghosts.

our walls are purified.

alive.

viva the lessons.

compliments & comparisons

west coast paid pretty,

east coast esteemed wit.

and the south with our

frizzy hair

and our humility.

boost us up as we are.

sweet tea or pressed juice.

coffee black, please.

our perception of pretty is

individualistic. we are who we

claim we are,

and that should be enough.

expect us to compare ourselves

if led to believe we are incomplete.

be like her? but she isn’t me.

our journey to acceptance

doesn’t

require your adoration.

only your understanding.

know us as we are today.

Our Darkness

share a secret with

reflections of our darkness.

“I’ve never told anyone this.”

if i fix her, maybe i can fix

the hollow parts of me. oh.

i can just fix me?

as the others were outside

being carefree, he said, staring

at the TV’s trauma unfold,

“Happened to me, too…”

not an overshare,

a reveal of what was seen

without being said.

me with a face that screams,

“Tell me your secrets!”

but a mouth unaware of how

to begin. “I understand,” say my eyes. my heart knows. my memories are still asleep.

don’t disturb her

uneasy

rest.

home

the idolization of nomads

from a potted plant, freshly

watered. peeking through the

blinds at the adventures

That Could Be.

a scent carries around

my leaves. a home I once

visited. i feel comforted.

musk, dust, and its loneliness

sneaks through when i’ve

decided to forget. no invitation

back. my home is here in the silence.

the past awaits me. i prepare for

it as the future pokes me, telling

me what it’s like to feel empowered.

i yawn and the scent of the

unwelcoming home fades. my

leaves shudder. i see tiny backpacks

spin to reveal giggling vagabonds.

they seek adventure.

i seek solace.

The Last Letter

only cry for special occasions.

here’s a clarification of my tears.

if i am not diplomatic, I am over

emotional. we can’t have that.

the thorough breakdown of the

scenario. let me explain.

just the highlighted sentences

in the book of an undeveloped

opportunity.

scurry away.

come back, blatantly detached.

i’m an essayist, not a orator.

lacking in courage when it counted.

miles away.

too close for a soul’s comfort.

said all that i could say as to not

be a bother. i’m the youngest.

what are boundaries?

the last sent letter for awhile.

be brave for new phases.

manifest for better.

i am and will be greater.

Catholic Guilt

6.27.18

A former busybody,

persistently

too involved with Others.

My selflessness, just a facade:

am I appearing kind enough?

Sincerity melting away

in the pool I am floating in.

The sun heats the top of head.

It doesn’t gleam. It taunts.

On a quest for

wisdom

from the moon.

(It hides from me.)

Whisperings among the trees,

cackling among the flowers.

A small box

in my hands

filled with all of my

gruesome guilt.

Leaking from the box,

it drips at my feet.

I smile,

throw the box, and

run from my own entrapment.