To Rest

here I am,
carrying a chip on my shoulder
that gives me the illusion of
carrying the
world on
my back.
Such a small thing,
causing so many problems
and I am still supposed to smile.
spare me
the "i have to be strong"
bullshit,
sometimes I just want
to lay down my head,
and
rest until I feel sane again.

you are the strongest tree

honey,
you are as sweet as sugar.
your words soothe aching souls.
your arms have embraced
not only the most broken,
but also yourself.
don't give up on yourself.
don't give up on the love you
have to give.
let yourself grow,
lose leaves,
break some branches.
just remember you are getting
stronger,
making room for
better leaves.
gaining stronger roots.

stay away from the water if you cannot swim

if you expect me
to silence my words,
cover my hurt,
and let go of my strength,
you have no reason
to try to speak to my soul,
much less to the life
in between my legs.
you don't go to the ocean
and ask it to stop creating waves,
because you are afraid of
drowning.

ill love the parts of you that you hate

if you can trust me,
let me speak light
into your wounds
to brighten up the places
that people have ruined
with their darkness.
let me bandage the places
with love,
to remind you that you are still,
as well as have been,
and always will be
beautiful.
that your soul is more than just
a container for
other people's problems.
it is more than the
cuts,
scars,
burns,
it is a beautiful
collection of
stars.

love is my lighthouse

and sometimes,
the only words I feel like
whispering out
are "I" "love" "you".
it's the only thing
that comforts me,
when things have gotten
too dark.

recovery intertwined with relapse

just when I think that
the world has stopped spinning
too fast for me to catch my breath,
and the sea has slowed down
so I can stop drowning
in its salty arms,
I get washed over
by a wave of
frustration,
anxiety,
despair,
and I have to learn to crawl again,
to the sand,
so I can rest.

why "cool" doesn't describe mental illnesses.

In no ways is it beautiful.
I do not feel glamorous.
It is cold.
It is the constant want to stay in bed.
It is loud and quiet
all at the same time.
Breaking yourself into little pieces,
watching yourself crumble,
and learning how to pick yourself up
all over again.
It is missing a meal,
to missing two meals,
to losing twenty pounds
to missing your appetite.
It is not "pretty",
It is not something to aspire to be.
I've gotten to watch the monsters
I was afraid of,
crawl from under my bed
to under my sheets,
and inside of my mind.
I am drowning,
and swimming at the same time.
A cycle of recovery,
relapse,
realization.
You teach yourself
how to save yourself.
This is a type of sadness,
the ones who have it,
don't want it to be.