The Witch.

Finally, her hair grew into streams

running dark silver in the coolness of the night

her body became moss

her eyes the stars

companions to the spirit of the moon

 

The days have been cruel

light like a feather,

pain brushed against her solemn cheek

she closed her eyes and felt the fires burn

she opened her mouth and let out screams

her eyes saw for centuries stabbing deep into her spirit

limping and bloody she tried to flee

but the tormentors fled with her

and to the edge of her existence

they still found her.

 

she tried to dance, to smile, and maybe muster a laugh

In the sunlight she tried to lose herself

she made her dreams by the moonlight

spinning, and spinning with threads of blue silver

still, the tormentors found holes in her dreams

she lived in a hut by the sea, spent her days with the rocks,

still, by the light of the sun…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Wanderings of the uncommitted

What is this place?

A temporary reprieve of love

of hate,

bordered on a war zone by the lands of multitudes

 

What is this place?

A home found?

A strange land lost

 

What is this place?

My life, my death

By crimes lashed on my body by the thousands

Written deep into the coastal seas

 

What is this place?

Where my cries fly with the winds

In an uneasy understanding

into the painted skies

 

What is this place?

To the uncommitted wanderer

 

He probably doesn’t even think about you anymore.

The question is how does one heal. I ask myself every day, when the waves of fear, bitterness, anger, along with flashbacks wash over me. Are somethings just unforgivable, do I have to forgive those responsible for my pain and trauma. And most of all how do I move on, some days its easier and some days its harder.

I think its important not to be defined by my hurt or by those who’ve hurt me. I think its important not to cling on to anger and bitterness and to choose self compassion and kindness. Its hard to love oneself when for the longest time you’ve abhorred yourself, but its not impossible and taking it each day is just fine. Little by little I am coming to terms that I will have to learn to heal myself day by day because the systems that harm me continue to function day by day, and its important to understand that I am not alone.

Loneliness is very familiar, and I think I’m partial to it. I am learning to recover myself alone without needing validation from others, but still I am not alone. It scares me that in my need to protect myself, I will hurt or push away others I care about, especially in their moments of need, that I might also hurt others. It becomes important to think of the the various ways I am connected to others, and to know that a huge chunk of healing will be done collectively.

Feature Image:Henri Matisse: La Danse, 1948

a sore heart

Is there are cure for a sore heart and soul, or should I just leave it to time. I have tried and tried many times to figure out why I feel this way, why I think about you even though just in the last second I promised myself not too anymore. Why does the thought of you make it a little better, why do I remember everything we’ve ever said to each other (not that it was a lot to begin with). I feel sad and a little comforted that you are miles away, that we would never be for many reasons. Then I feel distraught that I can not seem to control my feelings, that my mind and body would betray me like this.

So is there a cure for a sore heart and soul, its been months and I had hoped that by now the thought of you would be a distant memory. One that if remembered by mistake would only lead to a small smile and a little embarrassment that I could have felt this way for you. I want you out of my mind and maybe I don’t because I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Maybe I don’t because I actually feel, maybe I don’t because still somewhere in me I hope and I imagine that there could be a way, and maybe I do because I’m very sorry to feel this strongly about you.

Between the Rock and Sea

I have found quite a comfortable spot here, between the rocks. I can hear the ocean, feel it, and smell it. From there I can also hear people laughing, shouting, and the sounds of extreme fun. I am not uncomfortable by the presence of people, I don’t fear them, in-fact I am quite comfortable. However this is a lie. In reality I am in school in the middle of town, sitting in a lounge area, there aren’t that many people here now. There’s a guy sitting beside me, who keeps glancing in my direction, I felt uncomfortable and watched then I realized he’s probably looking out the window which I’m sitting in front of.

I have a massive headache because I haven’t eaten all day and its almost 4pm right now. I have anxiety and really hate being in public alone. I also like being alone, I cant make up my mind. Being in public forces me to in some way interact with people and be a functioning member of society. I have been on this earth for a little over two decades and I still don’t get it, society comprises of complicated dances and forms of expression called culture that varies from place to place even within a country or a state. I always feel like i am under-performing compared to other people, I feel like I have to fix myself so I can become normal like other people. Although our idea of normal is just that an idea and an ideal that barely exists. I live in a society that generally considers me the other and my mental illness continues to complicate my otherness while also stemming from that construction of otherness.

There’s an ideal that I am supposed to be aspire to, very few of us are actually close to this ideal, however society expects us to perform at the ideal. Thus I am supposed to pass myself as not being mentally ill, I am supposed to perform femininity, I am supposed to perform conformity. I cant pass these ideals, and not many people expect me to, however they still expect me to perform these ideals so that they can be more comfortable and society can continue in its “natural order.” A failure to conform to these artificial ideals are seen as an indictment of my existence and not that these ideals should be deconstructed because they are harmful to me and many others.

In conclusion I would really like to be on a beach, just gazing out at the sea in solitude. Feeling the breeze on my bear skin, not worrying about my hair, clothes, skin, or presence. To just be.