To my mind from my heart

A letter to: my mind

Unwell to the point where change is the illusion

I see as reality, a path of no return, an inception capable of

Losing my mind from the screams within why must I bear

I just want to tear and swear and not care but I don’t.

I smile and reminisce in my head as to why my bed is so

Daunting and lovely where the dreams are made and sleep

Kills the deprived thoughts of the imagination through the expansion

Of pulling thoughts of memories into a made up story known as my life.

Am I a dream? Or just another fly I heard as it died to the

Voices of the wind trying to warn me of the stories in my life

Only foreshadowing the knife killing the constant strife

with the perfection of my loss wanting to break me down into something

Reusable. Recyclable.

This is what I find, the ignorant pain reduced through the cracked glass

Shaping my jagged life, paving way to connect the roots of my past that

Break away and spread its branches from the seeds that I pass on and carry within.
 

Learning how growth contains both determination and sanity that comes in the

Beautifully ugly illustration of who I am.

Piercing the happiness of joy and laughter I hang around until

after the spirit is hung and I have sum in its last chord

 I really hate drawing my sword

To shield me from myself knowing

That it’s the doing of the wealth.

Or so I thought before looking back at my reflection waiting to be my own dissection

With the infection of others perfection

Not wanting to hear of my useless direction leading to where I am now

I think it’s easier to just take a bow and walk away

With the thoughts still in my head I just want to sleep in my bed.

Knowing I am an endless dreamer who’s scared to share the untold stories

Their abstracted metaphors extraneously taking up time to make sense.

Now if only they could make me some cents to get people to understand how I silently Beg and plead too worried for the panel of judges of the lonely me only

Strangling me with their words of hate becoming my slate of how not to be late

To the endless popcorn dinners saving me from my fate,

From my mind soaring way too high with wings of wax paper,

To my heart that is the shaper of me. 

My bandaged heart mended by the scars that beautifully tattoo my body as the wings

That take me higher, challenge me to keep going and show that being good enough

Started with the feeling of flawlessness that was once felt at the beginning of time

Lost by the end that started it all showing myself how to

Learn strength can be redeemed through grace

The feeling of knowing that it’s a privilege only to be

Justified from self – acceptance that my flaws make me flawless.

From: My heart