There are two days in the year that nothing can be done. One is yesterday and the other is called tomorrow. Today is the right day to love, believe, do and mostly live. -The Dalai Lama
In other words, don’t sacrifice today by regretting the past and stressing over the future. Harder to do when one is conditioned to depression (past-focused) and anxiety (future-focused). Love yourself, love others, love today!
I can’t worry too much now – I ordered groceries late last night and forgot they were delivered between 6 and 8 am. I also managed to cancel a few Amazon orders I’d made at the time for some skorts in size small (distress tolerance) before they shipped. My therapist at the psych ward would get how important that is, especially since I have so many skorts in a size medium im working my way back to. Amazon skorts from have gotten me through this Agoraphobic, crazy, and anorexic phase of losing myself because 1) they brought me joy, 2) I’m ready to rediscover forgotten items in my wardrobe, and 3) on my worst days, clothes were my form of art. Clothes are a form of choice and self-expression, so CLOTHES ARE ART!
P.S. This is my first hit at a REAL POEM post-psych ward. I know it’s rough, but it was a dream and I got it out. So YAY ME!!
PPS. (I’m an eternal PS’er) This photo is courtesy of Niranjan Photographs in India, where they make the fanciest art out of clothes!
I’m over my need to know anything. You are free to love, free to hide, and free to be. Freed from my timing for rescue and miracles, Free of my need for self-crucifixion, I myself am finally free of moral injuries. So I’m the One who’s Truly Free And greatly blessed am I indeed
I build. I grow. I foster. I adopt. I create. I birth. I develop. I encourage. I nurture. I’m kind. I’m compassionate. I’m wonderful! I’m so much more than that! I’m EVERYONE’S DREAM! Whether Nocturnal or “Wish I was like!” I’m a living Disney Princess! I’ll get a cool name out of it, too. One name, not a symbol. More Prince than Prince-When-??
I guess this is my fancy way Of re-stating the cliche: In my story, I’m the Author of My Own Story.
Yes, me. Yes, here. Yes, I DO get a vote. Here, I absolutely get a vote! And my vote counts. A lot! In my own poem, It’s my own self-expression, So I get to say ALL I NEED TO SAY, As LONG as I need to say it. And there’s absolutely nothing YOU can do about it! When it comes to MY POEM, I earned it; You didn’t pay it in trust; It’s mine and it’s indelible and it’s forever. It’s so much more than you ever were! That’s how MINE My Poem is!
For record-keeps, my scars Were formed in response to Surgical knives with scathing scalpels Hiding under surgical sleeves Rather than a purgical need to Purge Contained Pain In order to pain-relieve. (I’m not blaming or shaming; I’ve known Pain and understand You simply want Pain to leave).
But Scars all look the same to me, Therefore, their source isn’t Significantly significant to me. So I can be fully free To neglectfully and insignificantly, Ignore scar-sources and Scarce resources because The WHY of our afflictions Though it Greatly costed me, Now matters snot to me.
Clouded by the stars in my eyes, I STILL consider Scars Beauty’s heaviest of hitters, And why I personally believe Scars rock, roll and rule, too. In fact and in fiction, I’m SO moved Each and and every Time I Take And use to contemplate the issue, I have to break out a box of Scar Tissue.
Sometimes I feel like I’m taking dictation. Sometimes I have to labor intensively. Often, I start with a simple line which unfolds as I progress. Other times the message is much deeper than I originally intended and occurs to me after the fact. I guess writing is just like talking, only with considerably more Effort, Toil, Obsession, Deliberation, and Ultimately, Liberation. After paying a huge Tear Debt, it’s Joy Time!
I begged, I pled. You reneged, you denied. I cried but didn’t shy, Yet YOU never moved A single inch, couldn’t be counted on in a pinch. The constant doubt, wondering what it was all about? That’s the kind of shit I can DEFINITELY do without! This serves as the “Official WHY” behind Misfortune’s whimpered truth, Now that “we”’re Forever Through.
No one should choose you Then leave you to feel Like a Giant Loser Instead of the Lucky Winner; Chances are the Loser Won the Lottery But eventually Lost his Money And didn’t taste your sweetness, Honey.
He’s the Most Expensive Loser, The one whose costs won’t be recovered Nor the Gift-Wrapped Prize of You, Sent back to spoil as Over-cooked.
You cried and begged too long for Food, It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t good; Some people just aren’t worth the Waste Of precious time; their bitter taste Sits like Ash within one’s mouth; Such Losers are best thrown out!