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What is the truth?

There are days I drop words of comfort on myself like falling leaves and remember that it is enough to be taken care of by myself – Brian Andreas

Have you ever tried to be yourself ?

Lost yourself to the one form of self expression that you excel in?

Writing without my vices is my biggest quality.

Proof I don’t need anything but passion & words & emotions to crystllize my thoughts and emotions. To formulate poetry or stories to know that I’m important too.

We all want a bit of self validation at times, don’t we?

Life is rough & tough .

Love the people who have got your back.

Leave those who don’t- even the one’s who claim to love you yet have let you down by your standards and your values – time and time again.

Respect comes with age & patience knowing that wisdom is not solely about your age but also about our unique experiences .

I sometimes think – If you call yourself a writer -then you have to write & type all the time .

I have an inkwell tattooed to my arm.

We shoudln’t define our selves as masters of our creative self expressive outlets if we don’t write or create every day , especially if it is something that we do to try and keep well or find inner peace.

It’s more difficult to achieve if our creative outlets require an income and proof for a resume or career!

I’ve had the privilage ( sometimes to my detriment) of making decisions in my life where I decided what roads I have travelled down. Some roads I had no choice.

That is life.

However or whatever we use our creative outlets and passions for – hobby, recovery, to stay sane, a career.

I have the opinion that it is how open you are to self reflection and the ability to take on healthy critique or even self critique will gauge how effective your work on self development and progression is achieved.

Don’t forget to be compassionate with yourself and I will try to remember that piece of advice too.

I have all these thoughts. The words I’ve just typed are my thoughts.

Interests? I have a lot of interets.

My thoughts get scattered.

I’m not my thoughts though I sometimes believe my thoughts and feelings are the truth.

They are my truth and subject to change.

These are my words.

Forlorn- she was not a tree

She didn’t know it then

she knew now.

Woken up with on a  loop blasting around her mind in surreal sound-

 the Russian bass choir chanting in all surround.

An apt app unconsciousness knew her well.

A year ago, life had been different.

Mirthful, optimistic playful

 Now,  rooted to the spot with foliage, branches, lush leaves taking in the vagabonds seeking shelter.

Lost souls in need hidden by darkness

these nomadic souls plotting their next move.

Time for souls to gather there their thoughts

 the continued search of their dreams and pursuits.

Forlorn found herself lost in her own shades of solitude.

She was alone. Tucked up in her double bed -a pattern of flowers – all Huey reds and purples.

 Forlorn – wrapped up in a ditzy forlorn pattern matched her current mental state.

She could feel the bubbling creeping up to death by poison ivy- curling it’s away from the roots of her feet upwards.

It would not stop until she was mummified into silence.

She knew it wanted to make sure her mouth, eyes & nose covered  in bondage to the soil solidly planted her roots.

One day she had an epiphany.

 Moments of clarity were few.

 A  possibility to be something purposeful meaningful for her.

She had given life sustained it for those souls.

Yet she was weary, ageing.

Before she was forced to put down roots in an abode that spoke in foreign serpentine tongues;

Forlorn had forgotten she used to be a road runner girl.

A girl was taken by flights of fancy on a whim.

Ready to outrun her nemesis wanting to keep her hostage in a place she knew she didn’t belong.

An elder had kept her close to her.

Fearful to let her be free

To be whatever She wanted to be.

 She begged her ancestors to rouse the beasts of deforestation to seize her keeper.

 she could get a clean break – start over.

Feel movement not in height but in fluidity.

Nostalgic fragments of past it feelings -fragments

a pair of wings

A pair of  arms

Even a pair of legs again.

 Seasons passed still, she lay rooted to this spot. Full and plumaged as ever.

Ready to entice wanderers to seek shelter for without telling her a reason.

 

 She fidgeted, yawned, stretched willing pine bristles to deter these unwanted vagrants.

 Her heart had almost given up. She had succumbed to what she supposed was her last winter.

One eve she looked at the bees collecting sweet nectar for the unseen Gods.

Forlorn conceived a sapling of hope

Mental Rummaging a sense of Deja Vu.

I know it’s here’- impatient, sighing.

 

A piece of technology from the world she was once a part of.

A means of magic.

A way to communicate her distress.

Tangled hands finally caught the pointed end of a carved, wooden wand.

Slim, compact light.

Her true form to be again.

Stretching open her eyeballs could be made simpler if she had the eyelashes to wipe away the moss interfering with her vision to flee..

Diminished another sense

She would forget who she was

 what she wanted to be

 She drifted into a frightful sleep.

A woodpecker hammered a hole of her  bleak existence.

The epiphany.

The start of her new life was in a gestation period of fewer than 12 hours!

How did I sleep for so long? Christ! berating her herself under the twilight

Suddenly a swarm, around her were a fleet of fireflies.

 One eyeball strained

and out into focus confirmed  her impending anxiousness starting to emit it’s familiar disparate gas into her trunk form.

The final place she held on to her liberty – her mind.

Thoughts ploughed at her – like a farmer attacking a poorly harvested crop.

Not fit for tendering

Nor the soft touch of her keeper.

 

Soiled ground.

Soiled soul.

Soiled mind.

She fought with all might

Absorbed more -light, water, words…

The elder’s I told you so voice pulled her back into the darkness of her gloom.

Just like a car needs fuel to keep going so does the body need food… photosynthesize.

Try and be what you are destined to be. A tree.

Blasting  those voices back into the void from whence it had snatched out

Reaching over – without much of a search

 Rustled her leaves  -A call  out for new bosom firefly friends.

A loud moan persisted from her innermost pit.

Hunger.

Hunger to be free in the form she still chose to be.

Chronic cramp. If only for the longing desire she had for her legs or wings to ease the pain of being motionless.

It wasn’t enough that she contributed towards sustaining other life species.

This stagnant obsession never seeing a sunrise from another part of the world again.

She looked down at her well-worn form.

How hard can it be to throw herself back to a time when she had legs?

Gills?

Wings?

a moments thought yanked her back like leashed like a dog to this home she felt no affinity .

Forlorn inhaled the scented berries, unravelling the mask of sight at the  ivy,

A glimpse an assortment of psychedelic fleurs initiating that it was time to wake up.

One more push, one more fight.

Forlorn no more she’d set herself free.

Confessions of the bottles cries at high tide.

There are no cries for help. There a reason why we act and do and feel what do. TALK

Daisies grow wild as do I . Out of cat lives I’m on my 17 th life so far and I want stop the self shaming & self loathing. I couldn’t publish this properly the other day. I was the HDC UNIT for 7 nights In a coma for trying to end my life ( again) could of ended up dead . Instead I woke up 7 days later with temporary asthmatic induced psychosis from 11-18 may and from 19 May day spent 7days in day in ICU so far. Finally, I can say, Thank every one for their support.My mom & my husband and close mates are have been my rock.I guess end u can get knocked down by the proverbial Spanish bull unless shoot the poor bugger🌈🐝🐐🌻😀🌼🌼🌼🚸🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼♏🌼
He’s not dead yet .OLEA and upwards. Love & bigs kisses to all my fam mates far & near and those not on here 3♏🔝

Daisies grow wild i & so do I . Mental heal matters to Everyone. It’s a big issue cos we all have mental health and we have pyschical health

There are no cries for help. There a reason
why we act and do and feel what do. TALK