(originally posted on June 6th 2016 at vulnerablog.com)
Sometimes I just feel so fed up and heavy being me
And I want me to die
Who the hell is this me?
I get confused knowing that I am all different aspects?
I can look in the mirror
Tears streaming down my face
And genuinely tell that being that I see
That I love her
And at the same time
I can feel the rage
Wanting to erupt from within.
And the rage makes me want to attack that ‘myself’
Although I know that it’s not all of that myself that I want to attack
Just some of that myself.
And my mind gets all confused wondering
Am I wanting to attack the evil I’m sensing
Or am I the evil wanting to attack the light I am sensing?
The ferocity of its energy
Is desperately wanting me to believe that I need to attack back at it
That it is evil and bad and needs to be attacked
But something else tells me
That this is its way
Of clinging on
It will fuck with my mind and my thinking
It will convince me that I am the evil that needs snuffing out
It gets so confusing.
Where, who and how am I?
And when I try to get a wider vision
Almost impossible within the contraction of hell
I see that the fury, the rage, the fear
That is screaming
Is okay and holy too.
If I could only allow my self
To be splurging freakily all over the shop
I would feel so much relief.
All this energy that’s discombobulated up inside me
Would come pouring out
In a flood of radical nonsense
And maybe at the end of the wash
Clarity would be there
So I give myself permission
To be sick and twisted and vile and inappropriate and annoying and flat and depressed and awkward and uncomfortable and, and, and . . . .
And I say a big FUCK OFF
To everything I create and think and believe
That keeps me shackled
To this ridiculously small and appropriate existence.