She had the most beautiful array of words,
Deep within her palms –
But each time she tried to share
Her mind told her to stop.
She shut herself away,
From the sun, the moon and him
To seek an inner voice
It just wouldn’t speak,
Set her palms on fire.
It can be hard for people to understand the emotion behind people’s works of art. You can spend hours obsessing over the placement of the pen, the word, the meaning and lose touch with your own soul. Writing is my therapy, it’s my meditation, it’s rewarding for me. I like placing words out on paper and seeing what reveals of my soul and my interpretation of the world as I know it within. This reflection guides others’ own reflection.
This morning the first thing I thought of was all the words muddled within my palms, not creating structure sentences but muddled moments of madness. I became overwhelmed and upset. I need a moment in darkness to sit and understand the focus of my writing; its flair, its audience and its purpose.
Happiness is something we all care for; we all seek happiness in similar ways but we are all so blinded by an idea some of us never truly reach it. I know I am soon to be coming to the 6th year anniversary of my attempted suicide, I know the meaning of no happiness at all that’s why writing about it is so important to me.
I create my own self help guide, which I refer to daily, on dealing with issues of unhappiness, poor mental health, lack of true well being, personal relationships and our perception upon the world. this self help guide is recycled energy from me to you.
I’m finding my focus, my flair, my reason and this poem is for me and you too.