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Talking To My Scars
Where there is dysphoria there is euphoria. It’s easy to embrace one side of the spectrum or the other, it’s feels almost impossible to stand in the middle. It’s a war on myself. One that makes it hard to keep going, I’m having difficulty defining what I am and am not. I’m angry that my ability for decision is poor, that I often feel incapable of changing. I don’t want to be stuck. Not here. Not like this. No.
There has to be more! More of me, more of this, more of something else. I never thought I’d be this ambivalent, I’m trying to come to conclusion on what is mine, what I believe, and what influenced me thus far, I’m trying to decide that death isn’t befitting. Sometimes I lose, sometimes I hurt myself, but I’m surviving and if I can’t say anything else that says enough.
But I do have something to say about that! I have plenty. I have a fountain of ink that never runs dry, I have a mind that is sharp and could be sharper. I. AM. CAPABLE. I am alive. I know I can do amazing things, I need to believe I can do amazing things. I never thought identity would be so sly, I wish I could stand before you and cry clearly what I am and how terrible I feel. And why I don’t understand, I’ve become the very clichés I was afraid of, this year is almost over, I want the next year to be hopeful instead of hurtful. I need it to be.
Leave Your Readers Panting
for breath after a second read to get all of that. The 1st read simple unbelieved. The second to compare how much of that applies to the reader as well as the writer - good one. Ranting rocks! ~allets~