Mental Maladies

No matter what,
I am my worst enemy.
It seems that I
c a n n o t
re-train my brain
re-develop my perception
re-f*****g-do any thing.

Writing it down means
acknowledgment,
means it’s real,
means I carry it high
in the air, like a white flag.

Here’s to another night
of self-defeat,
of self-doubt,
of self-destruction.

No visible wounds to show for it -
Just the swell of a wave in my gut
that rises to my throat and
forces all the air from my lungs
as tears creep their way through my lashes.

Dare I write the thoughts
that sprint through my head
like I yearn to
through a field,
through the woods, to a river
with cool water flowing
over stones, smooth, and wood
that’s drifted shore to shore
collecting moss and opalescent shells,
shelter for the soft bodies of periwinkles.

-- yearn to flatten my hands against
the placid surface, like I did as a child
causing the water to feel like velvet
enveloping my splayed fingers
rippling the reflection of the sun that
would softly warm the back of my neck

instead of muscles tightening
into a red-hot bloom of searing pain -
my heart seeming to quake and shudder,
rattling the very cage of my ribs,
and every tiny bone that constructs
my hands and feet screaming like
they might splinter apart
without a moment’s notice -
my knees’ dull and cavernous ache
echoing the throb of my lower back
that throttles up my spine
each time I shift too quickly.

Dare I utter the poisonous thoughts
with which I wrestle daily
that manifest such maladies within me?

Author's Note

Word vomit...

Reviews

[Jordan]

"Word vomit" more like "feels vomit."

[RomaJ]

Wonderful. Powerful. Beautiful, Like the oceans and all it touches. So much depth to this piece. You weild a mighty pen, Glow.

[A Glow in the Pit of My Soul]

you are always so kind!