Fear of Light

I spend my time
trapping tears
on the pre-stamped lines
of dead coniferous trees.

With every poem,
I release
a little more of myself
to the wild.

My hands grow unsteady,
as I so surgically remove
each shadow from
the lines
of my smile,

and to be honest,

and I’m often much too honest,

I’m terrified of who
I’ll be when shadows
no longer make silly faces
to me in the mirror.

Who will I be
when the darkness
that is my closest friend
abandons me?

You see,
I’m just like everyone else…

I just want to feel whole again.

As if any of us
really even knows
what that means.

Even the honesty
of my own cursive
comes to question

where I so often
write illegibly
as if to protect
those pieces of myself
from the harsh poetry
of my pen

It’s so much easier…
to indulge in the comfort
of simple pleasures
than to face the journey
that is the journey of self

Because growing up
just means that life
has said no to my dreams
often enough
to leave me afraid to dream
at all.

But to be honest

And I’m rarely ever honest…

I like the way
it feels
to befriend sadness
as I have.

I like the way
it feels
to be alone
in the mansion
of my mind.

I like the way
it feels
to be heartbroken.

Because,

there is comfort
loving shadows
that remind me of myself,

I guess a part of me knows,

that everything I need
to feel loved
is already here

hidden deep inside

waiting
to be found.

Poetry
is the only passion
that didn’t change her mind
after the third date.

I write
because I’m looking for myself
out here
in the wild.

I’m collecting
these scattered fragments
of childish hope
and lost innocence.

And,

I am trying
so hard
to forgive myself

for all the things
that were never my fault…

The demons in my dreams
are made of all the sacrifices
I could never admit
to my best friend.

The demons in my dreams
are made of all the moments
I needed strength
I didn’t have.

The demons in my dreams
are the parts of me
that didn’t give up
when things got tough.

So forgive me
and my fear of light

because

sometimes

healing
takes a little more time
than filling
all the pages
of notebooks
on my bedroom shelf.

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