3 Months of Solitary

Month One.

A single flower

Blooming

in a dark room

fed Confusion,

Disgust,

and 

Frustration. 

Month Two. 

Flowers

grow

even in the darkest

places,

even the most

beautiful flowers,

find

solitude

in a lonely

garden.

Month Three.

the flower

sprouts

a

bud.

the cycle of forgettting

I didn't realize how badly
I wanted you around,
until you decided
to describe me
as something that you
constantly remember.
After not spending
over 15 years,
in the home
that nursed my scabbed
knees,
and held my
Sunday dinners,
I could barely remember
what color the walls were.
(how interesting is it
that I remember the short
rose bush
that housed pink roses,
outside in the front of the house)
I thought I would have a
harder time
remembering something
that I thought
I had forgotten.
I thought I had forgotten you.
Love showed me otherwise.
(The roses are still blooming)

stop forcing yourself

I am starting to realize
that my alone time
is just as valuable
than my time with others.
I am learning this,
after years of forcing myself
to be in an overwhelming amount
of social situations,
for too long
for the sake of society's
"guidelines".
I am happier now.

me

I am combination of demons,
blended in with the most beautiful
flowers.
I am a thunderstorm,
on a summer day.
Don't let me
destroy you
with love.

maybe you are all that you need

I want you to know,
I respect your decision.
I respect that your journey has pulled you
to walk away,
to leave.
I respect that you have listened.
There is nothing more important
than the safe journey of your soul.
Do for you.
Do it all for you.
Be selfish and selfless
with your love.
Share your love,
but remember yourself.
Please,
Remember Yourself.
You will always be there.

Tomorrow

Nothing good has ever
come out of hating yourself,
hating your body,
hating your life,
hating the universe inside of you.
Take one day
and love everything about you:
the little scar above your eye,
the mole on your finger,
your "nappy" hair,
the way you wake up in the morning,
how your face feels before you've
covered it with makeup
and disgust,
and comparison.
And then take the next day,
and the next week.
Watch how the universe begins
to return the love you
are pouring out of yourself.

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.

welcome morning

i like the mornings after
painful nights
the most.
my soul likes to listen,
heal,
and repair itself
while i am deep in slumber.
i'm thankful that my heart
likes to piece itself
back together peacefully.

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.

you let the poison seep into my wounds

learn to let go
of the ones
that douse
your name in poison
when they speak it.

I know you are hurting

acknowledge your feelings,

and then let them move on.

they too are temporary.

they are not meant to

last for a lifetime.

one day,

all you will have

is a faint memory of their existence.

embrace that.

the sun will come soon.

you silenced yourself

I am not biting my tongue
just because you haven't yet
learned how to speak to
and from your soul.

loving for dummies

I wish there was an instruction manual
on how to love you.
I still want to,
but I need help learning how.

you are trying to hide the fact that you are weak

I hope that one day the world makes
you soft and kind,
to make up for all of the years
you wasted thinking that being harsh
was equal to strength.

a piece of me

I tend to lose little pieces of me
wherever I stop and take a rest.
every time I step forward,
I contemplate walking back,
to make myself whole.
I have revisited places,
I have revisited people.
My pieces are no longer
my pieces.
They have found homes
in other people.
They have molded into new
concepts,
new ideas,
new feelings.
I used to walk back,
I try to carry myself
when my feet get tired,
my ankles have rolled,
my heart has given up.
I used to drag myself
lifeless,
in hopes of gaining parts of me back.
Sometimes when holding on to things,
parts that weren't really supposed to be
part of you anyways,
things fall apart.
Worry about what is keeping you together,
not the things that you've left
behind.

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.