Plate

Not a lot of thought goes into apologies, when those apologies need to be made to yourself. Innately, we are flawed and for some of us (ahem ahem), losing ourselves to a fantastical exploration is anyday much more exciting than the realities of life as we see it.  In short, we live in our heads and push away attempts by our insides to bring it out. We reject it. Draining our own inner strength bit by bit, through this resistance. So eventually, when the inevitable curtains are lifted, we are left spent, drained and at a loss for who to blame.  I do this. Internalize pain. Lash out at myself for allowing this to happen. For attaching my sense personhood to someone else's thoughts about me. For letting those critical of me, closer than they should be. Because, I'd think, maybe they can see something, I can't see. My blindspots.  But here's the black and white. The 411.  No one else can see every part of your life but you. No one else can hear the inner voice telling you w

When the memories of words you said once come drifting into my mind, lifting sanity and satisfaction. I wish I could forget. I cannot. So I rewrite.  When I've written over the words, emotions come to get me. And those I cannot stop. I hold my hand against a giant wave, I scream to say enough. They batter me. Yet they do not drown me.  I float, sun side up- I want to get up. My mind reminds me of everything around me, every bit of beauty. Yet I cannot get up. I am unworthy. I cannot see past the broken belief that I, me..  I'm still here. This place of need. I'm ashamed, because I believed every note of music that you sung.  I let you in and I should be able to let you out and you've left me broken to bits, to scrap and scavenge for promises kept- and I still want you here.  What does it feel - to be free? To live life like memories lived were no more than mere thoughts mid sleep between awake and alive? To have hope for a sunrise that doesn't remind you, instead pr