Tiny Poems From Once Before (Again)

1:01 AM

All that I thought

to be true

was false

and all that I fought

to be right

left 

Another round of too much thinking and too much feeling has led me to crack open my poetry journals oncemore. As of late, my brain has been going a million miles a minute. It's become a rarity for me to be able to form my thoughts coherently enough to become poetry. My mind is constantly being pushed and pulled in a wide array of different directions. And although I haven't been writing as much, I am fully aware of the sense of welcoming and comfort that reading your own writing can give.

My burnt red-orange journal has been with me since my first year of university. Back then, writing poetry was an almost daily occurrence. I was dealing with a lot of tumultuous chaos, and the only way to make sense of all the noise was to write page after page, line after line.

Fast-forward to now, approaching a year after having graduated. I have yet to fill the entirety of the journal. I write less often. I am still dealing with a lot (such is life), but I have grown to be more sedated in my feelings. Not to say that I have become apathetic, but there is a certain kind of numbing that comes with age -- or at least in my experience anyway.

After having gone through low-lows, I still feel every aspect of the sadness and the stress, the worries and the anxieties, but I have become more and more aware of the ebbs and flows of life. My outlook is not of hopelessness anymore, as I have come to learn time and time again that the darkness is bound to be met with light.

With that being said, I do miss writing. I miss the action of instinctively putting pen to paper in order to alleviate the weight in my chest and the heaviness on my shoulders. Until I find away to rekindle that fire, I've turned to the words I used to write as a source of warmth and comfort. There's just something so gratifying about being able to capture a feeling with words.

11:23 PM 

I know that change is natural

and that it is inherently

a part of life

But man,

does it still feel odd

to look at you
and not feel like home

1:24 AM

Tiredness spanning every inch

from my head

to my heart

my shoulders

my spine

once around and all over

I am told that I am infinite

but most days

my patience runs out

I struggle to be upright

and I get exhausted

fighting to be alive

12:46 PM

I wish I could fall

in the same way

that leaves do

in autumn

that graceful sway

in the wind

so quiet

Instead, I fall

like missiles do

in raging wars

that plummet

into the Earth

and self-destruct

1:28 PM 

Someday,

struggle

will become

Struggled

and I will have become

all the better

for sitting through the storm 

Stay gold,

Kimberly