Soul Tending

Be kind and gracious to yourself,
allow yourself the space you need
to feed your soul
to heal, to grow,
know that you are worth it,
all of it.

Be patient with your process,
don’t obsess about getting it right
or being perfect.
Forget about comparing yourself to others,
the only fair comparison
is to who you used to be.

Tending to yourself isn’t selfish
as some would lead you to believe.
Don’t be deceived,
if you cannot love yourself
cannot care for yourself
cannot be there for yourself
cannot be patient or gracious
with yourself,
how can you be all those things
fully, for someone else?

 

The Rush, The Whisper, The Reckoning

Good Morning lovely followers! I know Thursdays are meant for new poetry but I’m not feeling well this week and, honestly, the days got away from me. I’m trying to be gracious with myself even though I missed this goal. So here is an older poem I wrote about depression and mental health. Much love to those of you struggling as well.
–The Vocal Poetess

It never looks the same
yet it remains the same
at the same time.
At times it starts slowly
the way fog preys upon the night
creeps over the deepness,
undetected,
until by daylight
it’s collected
everything into its damp, dark clasp,
grasping greedily for more.

Sometimes it sneaks up on me
the way a chill rises up the spine
one vertebrae at a time.
It arrives without warning or a heads up
and before I know it I’m down
and out, unsure of how I got here
or there or how I even got out of bed.
Instead my head is inundated,
saturated with the ever hated
echoes of worry, doubt, fear,
tears threatening to resume
the familiar trails and mazes
they’ve blazed down my face.

Sometimes it takes the form of a gentle whisper
stirring beneath the surface
of my conscious mind
finding its strength and power
with each hour that it feeds upon my own.
“You could end it all now,” it sings,
brings a calming peace with each
breath, it etches, sketches
“suicide, suicide, suicide”
into my very bones,
coincides with my own
desires to take that blade
and score my flesh, pores,
the voice implores me to consider it
like I’ve considered it so many times before.

It shows up as the distinct memory
of that time someone called me
those God-awful things
the wound still stings, aching,
the pain keeps pulsating
I feel like a small child
swirling slowly on the swings
wishing for wings
anything to take me away
to keep reality at bay.
Dazed and confused
intent on making dusty circles
with my shoes in the dirt,
the hurt rising in my throat
like a boat on the ocean
the emotions hard to control.
And the familiar refrain
replays in my brain:
“You are nothing,
you are nothing,
you are nothing.”

It comes and goes in spells,
inexplicable wells
of sorrow and grief
no remedy or relief
can begin to assuage.
Instead it pervades every inch of my being
seeing any opportunity to pounce
any ounce or thread of hope pulled
until it completely unravels.
It travels the routes of my veins
making a dark map of the pain
as it moves inward and outward,
words cannot begin to pinpoint
where it began
and when it will end.

And then just as quickly as it comes
it goes, departing like the ghost
that it was.
It’s finished its haunting,
its taunting for now.
The fog begins to lift,
drifting once again into the abyss,
making space for the light to resume its place,
dry the tears on my face,
replace the aches and groans in my bones.
I reach down into the dirt
to retrieve my weary wounded soul
hold it softly between cupped hands
that land at my heart’s center.
All the while whispering,
“You’re safe now,
you’re safe now,
you’re safe now.
Come home.”

For You

I have never been one
to look at the glass as half full
or fool myself into asking for more
without drowning in insecurity or doubt.

For some of us,
positivity does not come easily.
Hope is a muscle that must be worked,
and some days
I don’t have what it takes
to shake off the rust
and grab the weights.

Just as the sudden brightness of light
pierces the heavy shadows of night,
flipping the switch from despair to hope
is jolting, disorienting
and it takes some time to adjust,
to trust that things will get better.

I don’t know what crazy means
or normal for that matter
but it seems that my normal just might be
a little more like crazy
my hazy thoughts keep concocting
the vision of cocking back a pistol
pushing the cold metal barrel
into my beating chest
and letting the bullet do the rest.

For all those who’ve contemplated suicide,
tried to silence the voices inside,
for those who feel voiceless
or less than
this is for you.

For those who can’t say
how they got out of bed today
or what day it even is,
for those who live
but don’t want to
this is for you.

For those who long
to belong, long
to drown in a river of their tears
who shiver in fear
at tomorrow
this is for you.

I’ve been there too
and it’s true what they say
that the only constant is change
and, believe it or not,
you won’t always feel this way.
I know it’s hard to remember
that you’ve ever felt anything else
than what you feel right now
but you did
and you will.

My dear,
I know there is so much fear
and dread and agony
and you’d rather be dead
than drag this dead weight around.
I know you feel on shaky ground,
aching abounds in your soul
and heart
and that bell jar
is suffocating you.
But my love,
there is life awaiting you,
even though you don’t want to live it.

I can’t promise you that one day
all this will go away
and everything will be perfect.
I can’t say that tomorrow
all this sorrow will end
and the sun will resurrect.
Things may not be better right away
but they will be different,
you will be different,
and you owe it to yourself
to know who you will become.

There will still be hard days,
and clouds that stay
but then, they will suddenly dissipate.
One day you’ll laugh and not know why
and when you start to cry
you’ll laugh even more.
One day you’ll open the door
to something new, something
you haven’t tried before
and you’ll discover a different side of you.

One day you’ll feel a lightness in your step
and the tightness in your breath
will blow away on the wind
and you’ll breathe easy again.
One day you will tell someone else
“I was there once too.
Don’t give up on you.”
And one day,
you’ll look back on this and say,
“Look how far I’ve come.
Look at who I was
and who I am
and who I am to become.”

And it won’t all be beautiful,
it certainly won’t be easy
but you will see
that it’s all been part of your journey
and you owe it to yourself
to see that journey through.
Don’t let those voices
get the best of you.
If for nothing else,
keep going for you.