…You need our poetry.

I read something on ‘Momastery‘  yesterday that I truly felt deep. Deep into my soul, a connection that made perfect sense.

Because yes, I’ve got these conditions—anxiety, depression, addiction—and they almost killed me. But they are also my superpowers. I’m the canary in the mine and you need my sensitivity because I can smell toxins in the air that you can’t smell, see trouble you don’t see and sense danger you don’t feel. My sensitivity could save us all. And so instead of letting me fall silent and die — why don’t we work together to clear some of this poison from the air?

The world is a rough place. A rat race. A hamster wheel. It can feel like a never ending battle to get to the next day, and I reject that. Right now, I simply reject that.

I don’t want to live in a world where my prayers are for each day to end. Just to get to the next, to do what? I don’t want to live a life where I put up walls and and wear emotionally protective armor, just to get by.

I want to use my sensitivity to better what is around me. The life that surrounds me and bleeds into you. I want to change what is around us. I want my children to see what true living is. What passion is. What empathy is. I want to show true love, a nonjudgmental love. I want to practice these qualities. Not speak of them with words of flowery praise, giving then poetic justice. I want to feel them, deep within. Sinking to the bellows of my spirit and taking root.

I am ready to let those feelings out, because I cannot behind a mask.

A mask made up of expectations and perceptions.

Mental illness has been a struggle for me for a long time. Depression and  anxiety. A struggle that for far to long I was ashamed of, so instead of owning who I am, who I was,  I busied  myself. I presented a version of me that I thought was what the world needed, what I though I needed.

I was wrong.

That version was naked, cold and lost. She did not belong.

The truth was always there, hidden behind fear. My world, the world needs me. As your world needs you.

My mask is off, my perceptions and expectations are on strike and I am ready to feel radiant in my truth.

Because we need your science and you need our poetry. Maybe we are here not just to be saved by you—but to save you back.

And in honor of the that quote from the amazing Glennon Doyle, I am sharing with you the poetry that I have been working on in my poetry course: Soul Holdings, A windy aftermath, Hunger, Escape, High, Pieces

Soul Holdings:

Honesty is the strong birch that digs deep with its roots and holds tall in its branches.

When you breath out your words,

your truth,

ideas of fresh insight fill the space, and make hearts soar.

 

Knowing with each thought your soul

is growing.

 Growing,

into it’s space.

It’s inhabitance.

 Where your truth lies,

the purest version of you resides.

 like the smile on your lips

or the giggle in your voice.

 

Your honesty shapes the energy.

Brings light to the dark.

 That truth is every part of you.

All that your soul holds.

A windy aftermath:

 Anger, a frothy bubble.

Exploding outwards from the top layer.

A volcano of emotion, destroying all around.

 

the boiling that scares deep.

Something fierce.

 The rage that comes,

is nothing short of intense.

 Sweeping the perimeter of all that is soft.

Taking away the breath of the space.

 With all its glory,

it passes quickly.

 Leaving all the wreckage.

 With its pass,

it brings a breath of fresh air.

 A bustering breeze.

 

Hunger:

 My desire for you is a burning incense.

Soft and sweet from a far, hot to touch.

A burn to the flesh.

 A hunger so deep,

it seems intangible,

unsatisfied and beyond reach.

 A need for your presence,

your true and honest existence.

 Your created beauty connecting with mine.

 I need you deeper,

than ever before.

 To fill me like no other.

longing to feel,

knowing that it will come.

 The moment arising,

to over fill my cup,

pouring out over the sides.

 To fill me up.

Escape:

The narrow path feeds into the darkness, drinking it all in. Like the straw that sucks a thick milkshake.

Sucking hard. Slow, debilitating, the movement so slow, manipulating her into a trance.

Stealing her core movement. What she needed to feel. How she needed to move.

Stuck in molasses. Controlled and forced. She cries out.

Louder.

Louder.

Louder.

It only gets worse. More narrow. More congested.

It fills her, weighs her down.

Sinking deeper and deeper.

Into an abyss. One she will never escape.

High:

Chasing the High, flying to the sky,

drifting higher and higher.

High and fast, away from here.

Floating up into the clouds, disappearing.

Losing the fight,

giving up and flying high.

Higher and higher.

Never looking down.

Floating, flying, gliding.

Until…

She falls.

Hard and fast.

Crashing down harder the anchor penetrating to the bottom of the deep dark sea.

Falling deep into the turbulent waters below.

Sinking.

Falling.

Losing.

Deep into the darkness, she waits.

She waits until she can fly again.

High once more. Again and again.

Before she plummets deeper than ever before.

Pieces:

Bubbling up.

Overwhelming.

These urges taking the place of everything else.

To destroy, a destructive force to rage on. Raging on without restraint.

The yelling piercing through the heart like daggers. Digging deep and twisting hard. The cursing pouring alcohol into the wound. Stinging and burning with unbelievable pain. Shearing forces tearing it apart.

To pieces, till there is nothing left.

Lost in inferno, the soul remains burn. Cackling, spitting. The fire grows, burning on.

The inner battle adding gasoline to the flames. Each thought fuels it on, each concept of guilt or regret grows the flames to new heights.

A rager.

Full out and firey.

Much love,

Jessica

self portrait

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