I wish I could see myself for who I really am

I wish I could feel like I know where I’m at. I wish I could really know that the person I am, is enough. I wish I could really know that who I am becoming is a healthy wholesome being. I wish I could see I’m not becoming my mum. I wish I could see myself for who I really am. I wish I could see that I am thriving and shining and I am only going to continue to. I wish I could see how independent and powerful I am. I wish I could see that I am someone who is going to succeed, and is succeeding already.

I wish I could see myself as I really am.

I wish I could see myself as other people, the loving ones, see me.

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I’m meant to know…that I am home.

I’m meant to be upright.
I’m meant to be moving.
I’m meant to feel blood in all of my system.

I’m not meant to be lying,
and screaming from inside.
I’m not meant to be lying there,
wondering how I got left behind.

I’m not meant to hold my energy
as a stranger,
I’m not meant to leave notes for myself,
reminding me I’m not a stranger.

I’m not meant to feel distant,
from the entire human race.
I’m meant to feel connected,
and like I have a place.

I’m meant to feel a sense of living
inside my weary chest.
I’m meant to be using my body
at it’s ultimate and its best.

I’m meant to
– most of all –
have inside of me,
A sense of purpose
and belonging.
I’m meant to have still,
inside of me,
a sense of everything
and a sense of nothing.

I’m meant to have the sense of creating,
a future of everything
I continue to dream.
I’m meant to have everything
I continue to feel.

And I’m meant to know
that I am whole.

I’m meant to know,
That I am me

I’m meant to feel
that I am strong.

And I’m meant to feel
that I am home.

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My heart aches wide open

My heart aches wide open, it’s soul laid bare. My heart sings a rhythm of something I really need. Of something I didn’t receive. My heart sings a tune to the beat of my own taut drum. My heart sings the song that reminds me I’m not my mum. My heart opens wide-spread, across the midnight sky, glancing at stars sideways and watching the ones shooting, pass by.

My heart is inside me, it musters up strength. My heart is inside me, raw and at times, clenched. But right now it’s open, open as can be. It’s wide spread loving arms, all encompassing me. Its grief spread totally sideways, its grief spread out to me. It’s grief spread so it shows me, nothing can really hurt me completely.

My heart remains wide open, despite the sorrow that greets it. My heart spread wide open, determined for something to meet it.
My heart fills a meaning that I sometimes lose inside – my heart feels all meaning and all nothing-to-hide.

My heart feels hidden in shadow, yet always by my side. My heart is a rainbow, coloured greatly from within, my heart is a cushion, in which I stick a pin – of hatred and of suffering, but never from within. Always from my chatter and always from my head. Never from my heart, because my hearts hatred is dead. My hearts hatred, was never really born.

My heart remains wide open, despite all that it can see.
My heart remains wide open, determined to protect me.
My heart remains wide open, hoping for the best.
My heart remains wide open, reminding I deserve the best.

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Today, I need someone there

Sometimes I just want someone to hold me. To tell me it’s going to be okay.

I want their arms to lie where I usually put mine.

I want their mind to know how to read mine.

I want them to feel all that I feel, and neither need to go searching for words.

I need them to tell me they won’t desert me.

I need them to tell me they’ll do anything for me.

I need them to tell me they’ll offer me bread, in times I’d rather think than eat.

I need them to nurture and nourish, and nestle into, my tender and in-need-of-love feet.

I need them to tell me it all will be over and I will know myself and the body I miss, again.

I need them to hold me and to tell me they’re grateful that they get a chance to know me, and share this.

I need them to help me make arrangements for my visits to osteopaths and herbalists and things.

I need them to arrange me lifts.

I need them to do for me, what I do every day.

I need them to take an inch of the responsibility away so I can break down a piece of my hypervigilance, and let peace in.

I need them to share what’s mine and what’s theirs, with clear cutting boundaries of what’s mine and what’s theirs.

I need them to wash me on days I cannot.

I need them to shop for me, on days I cannot.

I need them to hold me and tell me I’m going to be okay.

I need them to be there so I know I can let go.

I need them to be there, so I know I don’t need to be strong.

I need them to be there so their arms melt into mine.

I need them to be there so I just know someone’s there.

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The wild power

Sometimes I write and the words just come. Sometimes I try to make sense of it, other times I don’t.

And other times I do a bit of both…

Nature is the only time my pain
– emotional and physical –
feels bearable,
feels breathable,
feels part of me.
Feels safe.

The wild,
it brings me power.
It brings me freedom.
It brings me a sense inside myself,
that I will be okay.
That I am okay.
It tells me secrets of survival
and stories of success.
It tells me a place I can always reside
and a place I can always find,
a path to the process from which I leave behind,
the sense of disgust,
with my world around
and the world inside myself.
The world that I have known
and the world
that I have tried to hide.
The world that wishes slowly,
the world that wishes I would die
and leave my soul here…
The world that leaves my side of destruction
as a place I no longer reside in.
As a prayer that I can hide in.
As a prayer that I can be found in.

As a prayer
that lives inside my heart.
As a prayer
that lives always on.
As a prayer
that I will always live on.
That my spirit
Will always live on.
That my spirit
Will always be a part of me.

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Provided I have what I need, darkness is safe to feel.

Provided I have what I need, darkness is safe to feel.

When I don’t,
I feel lost and unsafe.
Without a home
And without a case,
To shut myself up in
And let myself roar.

When I don’t,
I feel abandoned.
I feel distraught,
I feel forgotten,
And I feel totally undeserving.

To not be alive,
Feels like a dream.
A desire.
A want.
A longing I seemingly don’t want to deny
But one I fear
And try to hide.

When I find, hear, discover, work out,
And listen to my needs
– no matter how ‘small’ –
I feel safe.
I feel heard and held
And able to heal.

I connect to the earth
And the feeling of support.
I take comfort in the contact
With the wild living force.
I rub my legs
And offer myself
The comfort I deserve.
I text a friend
And tell myself:
I deserve to be heard.

This wash of terrifying darkness
– this wash of immutable
Aching, blinding, and seemingly neverending
Sorrow –
Seems ancient and forgiven.
It feels like an old friend
That is back here visiting.

But a friend that doesn’t suit me –
That doesn’t serve,
That doesn’t heal.
That doesn’t nourish.
It’s a friend that has grown
Away from me
Not beside me.

When I ask for my needs to be met
– by others, the world, myself –
I know I am deserving.
I know I can – and it is safe – to feel.

When I get my needs met,
By asking and reaching
And seeking support,
In all the many ways I can
– no matter how seemingly small:
A breath, a connection, an asking, a sharing, a reassurance, a hug, a tea, a favour from the shop –
I am able to create a haven,
A safe space,
In myself and in the world.
I am able to know I am supported,
I know I deserve to be.
In all my glory
And all my pain.
In all my darkness
And in all my fear:
I am whole.

No matter how seemingly small,
No matter how seemingly kick ass firey and large,
Darkness is safe to feel…
But only when my needs don’t go forgotten.
Only when my breath and connection doesn’t go forgotten.
Only when my need for resources don’t go forgotten.
Only when I don’t go forgotten.

Because when I do,
It swamps and cradles.
Why I withdraw into a refuge
I seemingly know is safe,
The darkness
Blinds and masquerades,
Drowns and disables,
Any sense of capability
Towards this task of living,
For which
My heart knows,
I am strong and able.

The darkness tells me I am not able,
It tells me I don’t deserve.
It tells me I am not capable,
It tells me I don’t serve.
I don’t serve the world –
And I don’t serve myself.

But when I am feeling safe and held
– when I am deeply listening –
I know this darkness is here
To tell me something.
It is here to take me home.

It is not here to lose me
Or send me swimming.
It is here to remind me of my fucking beauty
– of my core. fucking. strength.
And of my presence
And essence
In the world
And in myself.

And it reminds me,
Of my need to feel safe.
My need for gentleness and calm,
Not my desire to bombard and disarm
This darkness.
Instead it reminds me to be here
– just with whatever is –
and to look after me.

Because I am the most important
And I am the most connected
And I am the most present,
When I am living in my body.
Breathing in my body.
Not breathing in
– or living in –
The voices,
The criticisms,
The fears…
In my body lies the undiluted,
Purely free,
And trusting,
Me

And I am here
And I will always deserve to be.

That will never fade,
My deservability.

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To nod

To grieve, is to sob.

To grieve is to nod
At all the heartache
And the faith
That live together sideways
In a chest that holds my space.

To grieve is to nod
At all the hidden pathways
I never got –
Pathways to a love
I’d only ever heard whispers of.

To grieve is to nod
At all the unborn feelings
Deep inside.

To grieve is to nod
At the life I deserve
To have by my side
And to truly learn.

To grieve is to glisten
A hope I once knew,
Of a future where I’m christened
With a torture
And a you.

To grieve is to listen
To all the words I have to say.

To grieve is to take
My child out to play –
To give her all the love
And affection
She never even had,
To be then taken away.

To grieve is to borrow
All the strength I have inside,
To protect and to love her
And to keep support by my side.

To grieve is to honour
The heartbreak and the pride.
The rollercoasting pathway
To a life I want to try.
To a life where I play centre
To a life I didn’t hide.
To a life I once played stranger
But to a life I now know’s mine.

And to grieve is to help me get there
And to remind me:
I do shine.

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