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self-loathing

a map

By kpPublished 2 years ago • Updated 8 months ago • 2 min read
self-loathing
Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash

suffering as though bereaved — knowing absence and loss

as deep fissures — fractures in my bones.

it’s a sentiment in this body that feels laced

with intent and control that’s about the need

for familiarity. i endure a lapse

to executioner from jury and judge.

    

when deciding my judge —

not those faced post-interment, but after a loss

of Self (dysregulation) — i know the lapse

in discernment is not the only choice. self-flagellation is a tired bore. instead, i must question my bones,

what i once determined to be fundamental need.

as a thole, my healing comes brightly laced.

    

however i seek to mend must be laced

with acuity and kindness. to judge

myself with decency and candor, i need

only grow sick of the asperity. even this gainful loss

can feel like death. even without bones

displayed on altars. but what of that lapse?

     

well, if i spent less time on "time," there would be no "lapse."

however, as it stands, your argus sits soaking in laced

glenlivet, eyes fixed on clocks ‘round an acrid room burdened with bones.

a figment. a husk. a cynic. a judge.

i used to do two things and two things only to mediate loss:

avoid the mend and indulge the need.

    

i had convinced myself i need

suffering — much like air — to live. to understand. to create. this lapse

in my philosophical priming ensured something like loss

never came to have unexamined meaning, however laced

with contradictions it may be. i find now i dare not judge

others who feel a festered marrow in their bones.

     

my present pain is not necessarily ubiquitous suffering, but both are found in the bones.

i say now — if ever struck with the need

to tell the two apart — remember that to judge

may be an exacting task, but it should be a clement one. a lapse

into old deprecating habits can prove fatal — has proven fatal for some — and laced

within the memory of healing are those of great loss.

    

but when there is loss, i will see it like rings in my bones —

like age and dignity laced ‘round live oaks — and i will submit to the need

for a long lapse between me and my old petty judge.

heartbreaklove poemsSestinainspirationalMental Healthnature poetry

About the Creator

kp

I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.

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    Written by kp