Gratitude 5/17/19

1. I’m grateful for people’s stories that teach me valuable lessons.

2. I’m grateful for books that allow me to rest and escape while at the same time speaking to my heart.

3. I’m grateful for friends who remind me who I am and remind me what I’m called to do.

4. I’m grateful for people who see value in all things and in all people and I’m grateful for people who are able to see the bigger picture and love others in their flaws and in their successes.

5. I’m grateful for everyone inside me who continues to keep me safe and shield me from the things that I cannot cope with. I know that when I’m finally free and am able to heal, the truth will come out. But, until then, thank you to all my parts for saving me time and time again.

Gratitude 5/15/19

1. I’m grateful for writers that speak to my soul and tell me what I need to hear.

2. I’m grateful for the ability to write down my innermost thoughts even though I have a hard time verbalizing them.

3. I’m grateful for beautiful life-giving trees and their ability to soothe my anxious energy.

4. I’m grateful for my Professor who showed me unconditional love and forgiveness especially when I didn’t think I deserved it.

Sometimes I wonder if home is something I’ll ever find

I want home to be found someplace deep inside me, where colorful gardens can grow.

But my being will always encompass the energy of winter, of darkness.

My lungs are gasping for air, for light, for the dark days are too long.

I fear my own darkness. I repress and suppress, not letting it see the light.

My darkness consumes, it doesn’t lead to transformation.

When will my shadow give birth to new life, to inner light?

I express this pain of feeling and try to accept this emptiness.

Will it be enough to spark a flame?

Where’s peace? Where’s divine light? When will my days grow brighter?

Is this the end? Or the start of something new?

I just want to see the beautiful garden inside me bloom again.

It’s easy to find home in the light. But, I want to find home in my darkness. Maybe this pain will lessen.

It’s winter in my soul, I need rest.


When will I let myself be human in public?

I’m hiding in my journal.

I’m hiding within the four corners of my mind.

I’m hiding what’s inside.

My fears are displayed.

My throat is dismayed.

And I unintentionally dissuaded the others from being my friend.

Trying to stay sane and letting myself be insane leads to the same conclusion…

No one is around to help my feet land firmly on the ground.

No one is around when I finally place my feet on the ground.

I’ve lost my voice

For the past three months, I have lost my voice. I mean that I’ve lost the confidence to speak my truth. I’ve lost the confidence to do and say what I want.

When I’m walking through the door of my class, I urgently want to say hi to my professor and ask her how she is doing. But my lips are sewn shut and the air in my lungs deflate. So, I sit down at my desk in quiet desperation, ignoring my aching chest and brain. For neither of them are happy with my decision to say yes to fear and no to dwindling self-respect.

I don’t hold up conversations. I don’t start conversations. I’ve been in college for two quarters and have no friends. I don’t let myself be who I am. I don’t let myself contribute to classroom discussions. I don’t let anyone in my life into the real parts of my reality. My walls are high, and I can’t see where they end.

And this is all due to my GAD and social anxiety. But, I still have responsibility over my actions and reactions even if I feel as if I’ve lost control. I’m only to blame for my lack of verbal expression.

I guess I’ll do only what I know will help in the long run.

I’ll write for myself.

I’ll write.

I’ll write the truth.

I’ll write.

I’ll write until I find my voice again.

Happy World Poetry Day

The written word is my voice when my vocal chords shut down.

My thoughts stabilize as soon as my pen hits the page.

My words on paper are comprehensible compared to the words that tumble from my mouth.

I feel completely powerless when I speak, and empowered when I write.

I see my words and remember all that I am.

I speak and my tongue never showcases the magnificent being that I am.

Try and see past my anxious ramble and read my words, because the real me lies between the spaces of words stringed together by my heart and my head.

It’s the only time they get along.

The written word is my voice when my vocal chords shut down.

Actually, the written word is my only voice.

It’s the only voice I trust to share the deepest parts of me.