***This poem portrays a very bleak vision of myself. While I do have a constant mental health checklist I am going over every so often I wonder if I am fooling myself. I am not anywhere near the darkness portrayed in this poem.***
nose pressed to mirror
tired from being on
cheerleader for all
no one to cheer me.
no longer smile
trying to find
the one I was before.
is that a whisper
chirp of bitter voice
striving to return
am I going insane?
am I already there?
seem to pass
yet it is there
depression riding blackened cloud
ready to attach itself
bleed my beating heart
returning me to desolation
do you hear it too?
Picture is my own
Recently I began writing erotica.
Mom asked me what I thought was the cause of all the erotic poetry I have been writing. I have been thinking about it quite a bit and I think that I might understand.
When I was younger due to abuse I hid myself away.
I wore baggy clothes. Would not show my body if I had the choice.
Well I should not say that as I can divide my wardrobe into two distinct eras:
As a teen and young adult I wore short skirts. Tight jeans. My body was a walking advert for sex. I used it so men would like me. Hey I was young we all do weird things that we look back on and go what the hell was I thinking??????
From about 25 or so until I was 44 I hid behind baggy sweats.
Over sized tee shirts.
I did not quite know what I was doing although subconsciously I think that I might have.
I have always had a strange relationship with my body.
Days I look at myself and think ‘damn girl you look fine’.
And days that I look at myself and wonder what anyone sees in me.
That is my issue and I realize it stems from the abuse and lack of confidence in myself.
I am working on that.
One of my tells when I am feeling insecure about myself I won’t look people in the eye.
When I catch myself I have a conversation reminding myself that I am wonderful and have no reason to fear looking people in the eye.
I am a sexual being.
I am embracing this me.
No longer afraid walking in the sun caring not who looks and stares.
And it turns out that I happen to be damn good at writing erotic poems.
Picture via Pinterest