We Might As Well
a poem about avoiding healing work
There’s something about the way
that we ignore our mental health
and starve ourselves,
feelings-anorexics too afraid to speak
or emotion-bulimics projectile
vomiting projections on others.
After all, all our emotions do is cry
out painfully to be loved and understood,
like an organic telephone call
from the heart and the brain
that we can never decline.
So maybe if we let our stomach
answer the phone, it would smother
their sound, dissolving it in acid
so that we can further
stuff our emotions down.
With the way we ignore
our inner children,
we might as well just eat our young.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).
🌱Facebook🌱
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from R.C. Taylor and writers in Poets and other communities.
Second Tuesday of November
No one knew how the event really started. Between a few beverages at the bar, maybe? Notes passed carefully on the street? Or, perhaps a secret meetup at early hours of the day? Whatever the root source was, we were here now on the second Tuesday of November. Nervous, but also absorbed by the allure.
By Elizabeth Petit3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Very powerful. I was journaling about this yesterday. I was wondering why some people survive trauma and channel their experiences into art while others just continue the toxic cycle. And I realized it is dependent on their relationship (or lack thereof) with their inner child.