Beautiful Mind

My words are what bear witness,
To this life,
And all the things that make me restless.

God,
Sometimes it leaves me breathless.

I have such joyous love,
And rage that’s cataclysmic.
Yet somewhere in between,
Is where I find catharsis.

I adore words,
And I love my beautiful mind.
I love stringing letters together,
And putting them into lines.

I cherish my poems,
And the puzzle of creating rhymes.
My power is in the prose,
And the narrative was always mine.

I write like it’s my diary,
And unfortunately,
That can be quite specific.

But I don’t really care,
The more gruesome,
The more poetic that it is.



Maybe it’s my Libran scales,
But I fucking loathe injustice.
I am so absurdly sick,
Of meeting evil with kindness.

Like,
For real,
Why is that expected?

There wouldn’t be a high road,
Without a lower alternative.

I made the mistake of repressing,
A lot of what I’ve been through.

I ignored it quite fiercely,
So it split me,
Right in two.

I have CPTSD,
And my therapist says writing is good.
I does help me cope,
And in poems I am understood.