Sometimes I Write

level 26. creative. lover + muse.

[musingsofmi]

[musingsofmi]

Who am I

when I’m all alone?

Is the voice in my head mine?

Or does it come from above?

I don’t remember agreeing to listen.

Seer or crazy?

If I’m crazy

why am I so often

right about things I wish I wasn’t?

Are the scenes that play in my dreams

my creations?

Or warnings of what’s to come?

No off switch

No relief

Only the weight of knowing

before it happens

I’ve never believed in religion

and magic is a form of that.

Isn’t it?

Clairvoyance

Precognition

Divination

Bestowed as a blessing

But oftentimes I feel cursed

Like touching life

through broken glass

I want to give up

But faith keeps finding me

even when I don’t reach for it

A knower, always knowing

A seer always seeing

A feeler

Always feeling

simultaneously devoid of emotion

I don’t know if I’m numb or broken

Maybe both.

I guess that’s what survives

When you feel too much

For too long

Fuck.

I don’t know.

Maybe the point of life

is to be lost

[musingsofmi]

I never know how to respond when someone compliments my strength. Resilience is not something I chose. It’s not this admirable trait I desperately desired to possess.

Should I say thank you?

Would it be too awkward if I admitted that this body of armor encases a little girl who is scared more often than not? Would alarm bells ring if I said each silver plate was forged by the fires of trauma, I never asked to walk through? Some too terrible to ever utter aloud?

I never desired to be strong.

I’m a woman that uses music to drown out her thoughts. One who cries on the shower floor because it’s the only place her tears will wash away without a trace. I’ve spent countless nights begging.

For guidance. For faith. For peace.

Praying to someone or something I’m not even sure exists.

Maybe the midnight pleas departing from my trembling lips simply drift into the cosmos. They say there’s no sound in space. No ears to hear my cries. No angels up above granting my wishes and sending back miracles.

So I’m not quite sure who this strength people see in me belongs to, because it certainly isn’t mine.

Perhaps there is a divine source watching over me. Winding the key in my back, just enough, ensuring I stay upright a little while longer. I can’t exactly explain how I keep moving forward day after day.

Maybe it’s spite. I’ve always been stubborn.

It feels like I’m holding on, hoping I see the day the sun finally emerges from behind the clouds to warm my skin. For a time when life finally feels worth living.

A timeline where I’m not so alone. Not so afraid.

I’m not strong. I’m just a broken woman trying to figure out how to make this one life of mine worth living.

Echoes in the Cosmos

[musingsofmi]

No one talk about the pain of release.

Silent funerals we hold in our chests.

The cruel way life builds graveyards that lie behind our ribs.

I've laid thousands to rest,

people. places. concepts.

It starts as a deep knowing.

One you try to smother beneath routines and small comforts.

Hanging on with vice grips, crafting excuses, making accommodations.

Then comes the bargaining.

Just a few more days. Just one more chance.

As if Father Time has ever been known to stop or negotiate.

Endings spread like cancer, eating away at you from the inside out.

Gnawing through the places you thought were strong.

You try to ignore the symptoms:

fatigue, heartaches, quiet rot.

The unavoidable feeling that perhaps happiness exists elsewhere.

Until at last, the mind gives in, the body collapses.

Denial is a child's game.

You stash skeletons in closets, drape them in old sweaters.

With fingers in your ears, you pretend the nighttime knocking isn't growing louder.

Hands over your eyes, you ignore the monsters under the bed.

But all secrets have a timer.

Every ending knows its way home.

Like a game of hide and seek, no matter how clever the spot,

The door swings open.

You're it this round.

It's time you learn; surrender is its own resurrection.

[musingsofmi]

Like armor, you hide beneath an exoskeleton of deceit

[musingsofmi]

My body is draped in silk and shimmer. My reflection looks like a prayer.

[musingsofmi]

How do I explain the agony of

grieving someone who hasn’t left earthside?

A mere 40 miles away,

Breath still fills their lungs.

No Heaven or Hell are keeping us apart.

The distance isn’t between realms;

Nor measured in miles.

It’s measured in years of silence,

In instances of violence.

A frequency traveling via telephone wires

Is all it would take for us to reunite.

But allowing them to live

Would be sentencing myself to death.

I’ve felt my heart snap like dry branches

Caught in the whipping winds of winter.

Grieved my own demise hundreds of times.

Though I’ve never truly known the afterlife,

Just the endless dying.

To become whole, I had to be alone.

A life of solitude, my armor.

A self-appointed black sheep.

Born into a family that devours its own.

Idk what to call this.

[cutebutclinicallyinsane]

I would've written to you sooner, but I couldn't find a pen heavy enough for what I felt

[musingsofmi]

I have died a thousand deaths.

Risen from the ashes of past selves

The cremated remains

Now fertilize the roots

Of who I’m becoming.

I am the temple.

Embedded within my walls

Are the bones of people

I used to be.

Each stone mortared

With memories and mercy.

My body is a sanctuary.

My breath is an offering.

Every curve, a hymn.

Every joint, an altar.

Every scar, a stained glass window.

I am a flame.

Burning bright with desire.

Effervescent.

Dancing.

Reaching out,

Daring you to touch.

I am the moth.

Fluttering around a flame.

My wings singed

Marked with lessons learned.

Enticed again and again,

Mesmerized by its danger

And its beauty.

I am the temple.

I am the moth.

I am the flame.

The altar,

The worshipper,

And the offering.

My life is a ritual of holy imperfection.

I am the sacred art of coming home

To a self I don’t yearn to escape.

[nixscriptum]

[musingsofmi]

The thought of dying used to make my chest hurt but now it’s just a fact of life and not even in a suicidal ideation way. I’ve faced my shadow and tasted happiness and I know that I’ll be at peace when it’s my time to go.

[musingsofmi]

I’ll be down in five.

I’m wearing four past lives,

And I smell of honey and vanilla.

Petals and warnings adorn my locs.

Whispers cling to my skin

Like silk too shy to fall

Every step toward you

is a prayer I shan’t dare say aloud.

The night knows too much already.

You asked for me to be sweet.

You didn’t say anything about safe.

I walk soft,

but I carry storms.

I arrive like an omen in heels.

There’s a language in my eyes

You remember from dreams.

You say you don’t believe in magic

But you keep opening the door.

Caution ⚠️ may cause vivid dreaming and insatiable desire

[inkpressedpetals]

[musingsofmi]

You looked at me like a prayer you didn’t know how to say and I forgave you anyway.

from a poem I’ll never finish

[musingsofmi]

A Poem A Day.

Day 2. Prompt: Before I’m gone, tell them

Before I’m gone tell them

I drifted from lover to lover

pouring so much of myself

there was no love left for me when I reached for it.

Tell them I carried secrets.

My soul, a vault

that held the tales of strangers

Because it felt safe enough to bleed.

Tell them I left behind

a trail of broken hearts and bruised egos.

Everyone adores the spiritual girl,

until she becomes a mirror

and they can’t escape their shadows.

Tell them my laugh

sounded like wind chimes on a summer day

and tradition never piqued my interest

like freedom did.

Tell them that I was a party girl.

Chasing tears with tequila.

Releasing pain with each whine of my hips.

Dancing like my body

was writing it’s own gospel.

Before I’m gone

tell them I was an ordinary girl

with a heart full of dreams.

And tell them

I never feared death

the way I feared living.

[musingsofmi]

A poem a day. Day 2

Prompt: tell me you’re not okay without saying I’m not okay.

All the oxygen in the room

Suddenly turns into water.

And I wonder

If I have what it takes to grow gills.

I inhale deeply.

Praying for a miracle.

Relief floods my body,

As my lungs expand.

Exhale,

I watch intently.

Bubbles bloom from my lips

And ascend to the surface.

It seems

I’ve already drowned.

[nixscriptum]