daily prompt · love · mental health · napowrimo · poem · poetry · recovery · travel

quarter pieces

cut me into fractions, here is how I bleed
split into parts, ready to proceed

quarter piece broken, dirty eyes down below
under guise of procedure, no heed to my no

quarter piece guarded, unbreakable wall
waiting for disasters to make landfall

quarter piece survivor, crawl on my knees
seeking sanctuary in the breadth of your trees

quarter piece traveller, passport in hand
save myself from the brink of no man’s land

i am more than the sum of these parts, i agree
but without knowing these parts you’ll never know me

love · mental health · napowrimo · poem · poetry · recovery

I knew [his voice]

{preamble: this is a counterpart to “imagine my surprise” but written from my partner’s perspective. i chose to do this in response to the napowrimo day 2 prompt <3}

I knew you were hurting when my compliments turned your eyes to rivers
like you never knew such undivided kindness
like you never knew the miracle that shines through your very being.

I knew you were scared when my commitment seemed like fantasy
like you could not imagine the longevity of my love
like you painted loyalty and fairytales with the same brush.

I knew you were yearning when your tears were unpredictable
like asking for help was a hand on your throat
like you were stranded on ice slowly cracking from the weight of it.

I knew you were trying when you peeled yourself from rock bottom
like you knew how much I worshipped you
like you saw the light that flickered through it all.

I knew you were worth it from the moment I laid eyes on you.

daily prompt · love · mental health · poem · poetry · recovery · travel

warning bells

i am trying to explain flashbacks to you without sounding ludicrous.
it doesn’t matter this was years ago.
it doesn’t matter that it could have been worse.
the terror lies partly in those coulds,
the insidious possibilities that stole my safety from me.

i don’t know how to explain that i know it’s not helpful.
my panic. my overabundance of caution.
the gnawing reminder that the security of home is merely
an illusion.

i am trying to imagine your response when i tell you
i hold these flashbacks in one hand and positivity in another.
these new traits that cracked my soul and let empathy out.
these memories that finetuned the strings of my street-smarts.

the warning bells might never go away.
and i’m trying to envision how you might
love that part of me too.

{via daily prompt}

daily prompt · love · mental health · poem · poetry · recovery

I see you

I see you
moving through the shadows as if you
don’t deserve the sunshine.
As if you are just another body slinking through the streets
Surviving a 9-5 with no other accolades.
You are not faceless.

I see you
existing in the darkness
finding enough meaning to fill the void
Surviving the nights to exist in the days.
You are not worthless.

I see you
You are more than your hard times
More than a silence so deafening it shatters glass
Raise your voice like a war-cry, beautiful
You are valuable

{<3 daily prompt}

daily prompt · love · mental health · poem · poetry · recovery · travel

Like a passport

Who defines the line between foreign and domestic?
Where is the threshold between what is new and what is familiar?
Big men in big houses pick the box in which I fit
Their ambitions pulling the trigger on the gun that
decides if I am allowed to enter.

Like a passport I hold the signs of borders forced upon me
Signs that maintain separation from my neighbours.
My spine worn from the whiplash of being open
and returned to me.
Whose job is it to determine my worth for entry?

Now I collect stamps with pride.
I’m not the six year old who folded in on herself
after learning her body was not a safe place.
Big men in big houses be damned, I am a miracle
holding a worn spine but still standing.

I define whose stamps adorn me now.

{daily prompt: foreign}floral1