Posts tagged #poetry

The Breakup

My first Spoken Word performance. Lessons learned:
1) Why did I write something that was so galdang long?!
2) Even though you wrote it, doesn't mean you can remember it.
I hope you enjoy it! Like and share with your friends if you do. If I get a good response (or let's face it, even if I don't), I'll be doing it more often. Loved it.
www.trulyme.ca

Posted on September 7, 2016 and filed under poetry.

The Evolution of Self-Love: Three Phases (original poem)

Phase one: Other/Comparison/Jealousy/

If I was you
I'd be much better off.

Your grass grows greener
(like an envious brother)

Your smile seems cooler
(like an empty mother)

Your pocket runs deeper
(like a broken teacher)

If I was you
I'd be better off.

Phase two: Angst/Self-loathing

If I wasn't me
I'd be much better off.

I'd ring true
(like the weekly preacher)

I'd jump for joy
(like the tied-down seeker)

I'd be free of a limp tongue
and a chest full of
nos

If I wasn't me
I'd be better off.

Phase three: Acceptance and self-adoration

If I were me
I'd be much better off.

I'd hug the betrayals
out of my lungs

I'd sing the praises of
life's good graces

I'd slip me on
like a new suit,
freshly pressed with hope

I am me.

I am me.

I am.

And I'm much better off.

What is it to be Truly Me?

What is it to be

Truly Me?

Asks she

 

Am I to

tear away the outer wrap,

like a frozen pizza,

ready for the rack?

 

Or Am I to

swaddle

my soft spot,

my blind spot,

in cottony layers

of protection?

 

What is it to be

Truly Me?

Asks she

 

Am I to

bow to the vow,

to love my Self

above all others?

 

Or Am I to

kneel and bend,

in servitude

of All That Is?

 

What is it to be

Truly Me?

Asks she

 

The answers echo against

the walls of her soul,

as they travel

to the depths, where all of it is true.

Posted on March 28, 2016 and filed under poetry.

The Plea and The Response

Don’t leave me hanging.
Hanging from the cliff, dangling over the chasm of wanting.
Looking down but trying not to look down.
 
Don’t look at me now because I’m ashamed.
I hang my head because you caught me. Caught me reaching out.
Caught me needing, kneeling over my own glass statue. Shielding it with my wary embrace.
 
Don’t look at me now—my face is embarrassed.
You caught me between poses.
In between stages. In between rehearsals.
Suspended between carefully orchestrated deliberations.
Don’t judge what I’m doing. I do it with blindness.
Without a reliable script.
 
The Response-
I love you.
I love you through your uncertainty,
your desperate grasping of another,
frantic groping for a plug to stop this sink.
 
I love you.
I love you through the shiny mirages,
the race to the horizon,
The realization of an empty sandy landscape.
I love you.
I love you through the utter humiliation of obvious need,
your naked body in the dream where you forgot to dress,
The revelation.
The revealing that seems so involuntary.
I love you.
I love you for your striving, for running to goal posts.
I love you for beating yourself at your own time.
I love you for wanting. For needing.
For despairing. For grasping.
For struggling. For reaching.
For yearning.
I don’t hold this against you. I hold you against me.
I wrap my arms around you and stoke the flames of your raging bonfire.
I love you.

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