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Recovery?

It’s been four years since I’ve been that person,
Still, consistency evades me.
Some days I laugh,
Other days, I cringe with disgust.
On most days, I tell my story like it was someone else’s,
Those are the days I detach.
But ever so often, I catch myself wallowing in defeat.
I can’t tell if it’s the tremor or palpitations,
The constricted airways or involuntary tears.
Perhaps, it’s the sudden inability to regulate body temperature.
Regardless, I’m cold on the outside and on the inside,
So how then can I be capable of love when love is warmth?

A.

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Unfamiliar Familiarities.

There’s something about your arms that feels so familiar.
The way they wrap around my physical form,
Firm, yet gentle.
And when they pull me into what was once considered personal space,
It’s caring, it’s protective.
It’s like I’ve been here before,
Like you were once my home.

There’s something about your face that feels so familiar.
The way your eyes dart around the room,
Before gleefully landing on mine.
And when your lips curve upwards,
I get to experience what is now my favourite smile.
It’s like you’ve been here before,
Like I was once your friend.

There’s something about these emotions that feels so familiar.
It’s in the way my heart beats to the rhythm that my soul joyfully dances to.
It’s in the way that my spirit welcomes current thoughts of you,
Future thoughts of us.
So, when you say that this feels right,
I don’t attempt to put up a fight,
Because, It’s like we’ve been here before,
Like we once shared love in a different lifetime.

A.

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Insomnia Revisits.

It was the suddenness of it all.
Do I move on or do I fall,
Back to a place of familiarity?
My feet flee but my soul stands in solidarity,
With what once was.
What felt right.
What’s been keeping me up all these nights.

A.

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Fog.

Sometimes,
I write.
Other times,
I let my soul cry out.
The difference is clear as fog.

A.

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Nothing Has Changed.

I’ve swapped stars for butterflies,
Erratic patterns for fairy light trails.
Can you imagine my walls no longer absorb light?
They emit it.
No longer glow but, illuminate.
As for me, I no longer write.
Instead, I let my thoughts aggregate.
Saving the punishment of a deep realisation,
For the version of me that will exist tomorrow.
Today, I stare longingly at my walls,
They’re a different shade of beige,
But stir up the same old feelings.
It feels like everything changed.
But nothing is everything,
So, has nothing changed?

A.

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Finally, A Sentence.

I wrote a sentence today.
It’s the first thing I’ve written in months,
The only thing I want to write for the forseable future.

Why?

Ofcourse I wrote a sentence, it’s literally the first sentence of this poem.
So matter of fact, yet so plain.
Like the first sentence from out conversations
Off point but, I’m…reminiscing again.

What?

Often a string of non cohesive words spewing through alcohol soaked lips.
But those are the sentences I remember,
The ones buried in the deep crevices of my heart.
A broken mental record, yet a reason to smile.

So?

I will try my best to hold on to this one sentence,
Until it becomes a lyrical piece in its own glory.

A.

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Hey Big Head.

I’m back again,
Creating literary pieces of art
While everything within and around me falls apart.
I’m back to being inspired by pain.

A.

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Growth.

You are not just growing
For the sake of growing.
You are fulfilling a prophecy,
Stepping into your destiny.
In this realm, it all makes sense;
The backlash the hurt,
The tears, the distrust,
The series of events,
They all led you up to this point.
They created this version of you.
This heart, this mind, this soul, this body,
This new found level of confidence ,
This attitude this approach,
You were not this person.
But most of all,
You are no longer that person.

A.