A Need to Move Beyond Myself

Escape this heavy chest
A mind that worries and scatters
like so much dust

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Displaced over stacks of books
By neon yellow swiping feathers
To gather myself
To make sense of thought
To understand love and anger, my own being
To feel honestly, to be able to convey feeling
This is to be an artist
 
It is the feeling that comes so readily when I take a moment to listen to my own heartbeat
Even when I do not, it thumps so fucking loud through my rational self
I can’t help but tap my foot and question
What is this flagrantly fragmented beat?
When it moves warm how do I capture it? Pen it to a page and send it to you to read?
When it feels unsexy, sharp, how to release it?
Confident in righteous abandonment
 
Pain of self comes in waves, disoriented it creates swirls and deludes linear idealism
A need to move beyond myself
Escape this heavy chest
A mind that worries and scatters
Like so much dust displaced over stacks of books
A neon yellow bunch of
Gathering self
Making sense of thought
Understanding love and anger
Honestly feeling and conveying feeling, to be an artist.
Release the unneeded, unsexy
Disoriented pain of self comes in swirls
No hint of linear idealism
Movement beyond self
Listening to this fucking thumping
Warm and beautiful to tapping toe
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About detangledprosereview

I am a human rights advocate with a knack for inter-contextually. I am a storyteller, a ceramists, a pan-art lover, a feminist, and a humanist.
This entry was posted in Feminism, Literature, Memoir, Poetic Fragments, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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