I have a lot to write about but can’t say a word. Do you ever have that feeling? The less I say the more my words scare me.
I write poetry, especially when words don’t come to me in the normal flowing sense. I’ve posted a few on the page linked on my toolbar above, but I mainly share them in my zines. I used to write poetry almost daily but I’m sick of my words being so dark.
Anyway, regular posts coming soon, I promise. Especially about my pet situation (fun times ahead!), support groups (possibly), and more of my general musings. Please tell me if you want to hear about anything specific in the mental health realm!
Until then, some creepy poetry for you by me. <3
My story is one written without utensils,
without arms or a mouth.
In fact, it’s a story of nothing at all,
the lack of a person,
in debt of a soul,
a mind turned mad.
We think of powerlessness as penance,
but my tiny wrists bound curled in upon themselves
like burnt paper;
no crime would be proven against a body not there.
When the camera crew covered their lenses to go home,
I completed to ash and scattered,
the lack of an ear never hearing
the spinning roar of a funnel cloud,
the soul swallowing itself
and choking.
