The Hiding Spot

There is a crack in the box that's holding you,  some of yourself is leaking out.  And you're afraid now they'll see you're not the quiet, little girl anymore.  The good girl they wanted you to be.  But no, someone presses their finger on the crack,  stopping you from sliding out,  she wants you to stay in,  as the good little girl, you have always been.  Funny how some of the biggest pains turn into the wildest pleasures.  "Stay inside the walls!" she says.  "They're there for a reason.  I don't remember what the reason was or who built them.  But accept it.  Don't cry now.  Be quiet.  Be a good girl.  You're annoying.  Don't be so sensitive." Little baby, now you know — you're not wanted out there.  Hide,  make yourself small,  take as little space as possible.  Stay inside these walls.  Would it even matter if you tried?  The walls are so thick with mud  layered on ...

Wow. Do I stick around long enough  playing the game by the rules   so I can come to a position of power  to change the game? Or is this what everyone says  before they fall slave to the system Victim when disadvantaged,   blind and deaf when privileged What if I forget about the disadvantaged   when I climb to the level of the privileged What if I forget about me   and become the one who oppresses me? How to stay in the game long enough   so I can kick the key players out And is it even worth it? Why do the disadvantaged have to take workshops to learn how to fit in the world of the privileged And when the privileged is suggested to do the same,  they’re immediately offended Why do I have to hide my womanhood  and learn how to be a man To be able to survive in a system  where I’m maybe allowed to do less than I can I'm not supposed to show emotions Because the game is pretending I'm not supposed to be honest   Because the game...

I feel so heavy Yet I struggle to let it down I'm not sure what combination of feelings and thoughts is weighing me down I feel an immense sadness mostly centered between my eyebrows and my eye sockets contract like they want to release the weight but somehow I don't maybe I don't want to accept that I'm sad yet again and so soon and I know the easiest way is right through I don't even know why I'm sad or maybe I wish to have been done by now with being sad about  the things I'm sad about Whenever I feel like this it quickly combines with the hate directed right inwards so I keep looking at older pictures of me with sad nostalgia and pity remembering how miserable I was yet I looked so young and pretty and thin and happy Now I have the real reasons to be sad I look old and weary and my body is giving up completely The way I feel sad about myself doesn't feel compassionate no, not one drop of it It feels like pitying someone I would never want to be. And...

Love is like hot dense air surrounding you you breathe it in and it's a warm hug coming in and it holds you on the inside so light and airy but fills you up at the same time until you feel held in every single cell of your body and so you let go with eyes closed and face covered with the biggest smile you let go and trust that you'll be held all around. 

since -I was told- I came into existence I keep rolling down the hills of life in a shiny bubble of an illusion of me hiding with all my wrongness inside until someone bursts it  and all my nothingness comes free. Even at being wrong, I keep failing it's like I'm not even good enough to be bad I'm just an empty bubble of nothingness with all the shiny reflections on the surface of the person I created pretending she is something of matter even my tears are abstract and my wrongness is imagined and I'm so afraid of anyone finding out that I'm just a sad sad collection  of carefully selected pieces of doubt. trying to fit in somewhere again I don't belong how can emptiness take space anyway maybe if I squeeze my non-existence enough It'll fit into someone's life full of joy with definitely no space for me and maybe this time I can come alive in someone else's loving presence.  If someone real loves me, it means I'm real, too, right?

Free falling, But I have wings. How did I get them? When did that happen? I've fallen before, I've fallen many times, With no wings, though, And I hit the ground, Got up, Climbed back up, And I fell again, Hit the ground again, Harder every time. This time I am back up, I slowly floated up here, And I got wings in the meantime. Did I draw them for myself, Or did they appear when I was ready? I don’t know how, But I have them, These giant angelic wings, In any color, one can imagine, And transparent all around. I see through them, And they see through me. I feel like I had them before, Before I was taught that there is no space for me in this world, And for my magic, And that’s when I first fell down, And hit the ground, I crawled, I cried, I screamed, I hid, And I begged for someone to pick me up, Carry me anywhere but down, And waited and waited and waited. When no one came, I fell even harder, Down through all these grounds that I thought did not exist, Every time there’s bee...