There’s a stillness in this house
Quiet radiates of walls in the softest sound waves
Outside the wind rages on
A reminder that I am not alone in my screaming
My therapist has been trying to convince me of screaming
For months she has challenged me on the outcome
She says, “it’ll ease the pressure”
I say, “how can I allow myself to take up space”
There is no question in my statement
For I am no wind
No force of nature
Not even a grain of sand upon this land that isn’t mine
I claim nothing
Worry, my pain will radiate towards the neighbors and cause them to worry
I know there is already too much chaos next door
I return to my thirteen year old thoughts of
“My pain is not big enough to count, others matter more”
I am nothing
I feel nothing
Airport runway lights blink bright red
The flight of my self-compassion has departed
I am not on the flight.
I have yet to buy my own ticket.
But hope whispers in my good ear,
“Tickets are half off tomorrow if you wish to try again”
I wrote this poem on a particularly windy day. The house was shaky and while the wind howled along with my thoughts, there was a sense of calm indoors. Maybe if was the trust in the walls to hold still enough to not collapse; both my inner emotional walls and those of the house. Weird.
This poem was also posted on my medium account under my pseudonym Poet in the Arctic.
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