CuerpoMuerto
BRB, Looking up LD50 of My Meds
- Aug 21, 2023
- 33
In my real life, I write poetry often. I hope before I die or CTB that I can self publish a poetry collection based on different taboo subjects that come up for mental illnesses/personality disorders. I see a lot of poetry on mental health, but I don't see a lot detailing the taboos of addiction, hypersexuality, suicide, etc. (Outside classic confessionalist poetry)
I once said that I feel like my issues and traumas are so ingrained within me that I would never be successful in therapy- I compared it to weeds. The roots of invasive weeds are entangled into my soul and to peel it out would be like tearing out my nervous system. Tedious and painful beyond imagination. So I wrote a poem about it, and wanted to share it with like-minded people. I like the analogy more than I like the finished poem.
Weeds
I take pride in my garden.
I sit and crack a cider to look over my land,
Filled with knotweeds and dandelions-
And clay-like mud.
I'm told to feel shame,
Told to feel sad,
But I take great pride in the infertile lands I tend.
A great demonstrator of who I am.
Pride, maybe, isn't the right word.
Maybe fearful is more accurate.
I bathe in the fear of the inability to resurrect my land.
I bathe in the self pity and pain.
"Start with a simple flower, tulips."
To plant kindness and contentedness in a land like mine,
Means to sentence it to death.
Choked out by invasive ivy.
I would have to pull out the whole,
As every root and leaf is interconnected with one another-
They sing a harmony of misery.
To pull out the weeds means to pull out my own nervous system.
Tedious, painful, and impossible.
So, I simply enjoy the misery I have sown.
I simply learn to love the chaos of a life falling apart.
I simply pretend that knotweeds, dandelions, and prickly bushes are beautiful.
The land would be better off forgotten, anyway.
To fix the land would mean to start anew,
To abandon my twenty acres.
My bags are packed, and I am fixing my last fence posts,
Then I will abandon my acres for good- to be forgotten.
To be pulled from the root.
I once said that I feel like my issues and traumas are so ingrained within me that I would never be successful in therapy- I compared it to weeds. The roots of invasive weeds are entangled into my soul and to peel it out would be like tearing out my nervous system. Tedious and painful beyond imagination. So I wrote a poem about it, and wanted to share it with like-minded people. I like the analogy more than I like the finished poem.
Weeds
I take pride in my garden.
I sit and crack a cider to look over my land,
Filled with knotweeds and dandelions-
And clay-like mud.
I'm told to feel shame,
Told to feel sad,
But I take great pride in the infertile lands I tend.
A great demonstrator of who I am.
Pride, maybe, isn't the right word.
Maybe fearful is more accurate.
I bathe in the fear of the inability to resurrect my land.
I bathe in the self pity and pain.
"Start with a simple flower, tulips."
To plant kindness and contentedness in a land like mine,
Means to sentence it to death.
Choked out by invasive ivy.
I would have to pull out the whole,
As every root and leaf is interconnected with one another-
They sing a harmony of misery.
To pull out the weeds means to pull out my own nervous system.
Tedious, painful, and impossible.
So, I simply enjoy the misery I have sown.
I simply learn to love the chaos of a life falling apart.
I simply pretend that knotweeds, dandelions, and prickly bushes are beautiful.
The land would be better off forgotten, anyway.
To fix the land would mean to start anew,
To abandon my twenty acres.
My bags are packed, and I am fixing my last fence posts,
Then I will abandon my acres for good- to be forgotten.
To be pulled from the root.
Putting your emotions into writing can be therapeutic.
