[personal] in the shadow of your (own) heart.
Series: real life.
Word Count: 366.
Characters/Pairings: You (me).
Notes: we were given a prompt in poetry class to write a personal reflection in the style of Walt Whitman. I failed on the second part and delved too far into the first.
Summary: your world is a cycle of apathy and sensitivity. your introspection is a tool and it's far too strong.
this is not the way you wanted this to end. you imagined-what? grass and robes and smiling faces, like some kind of family
reunion.
instead, you’ve gotten this: it is not anyone’s fault, you think, but it is still painful nonetheless. people have always told you, letting
go is not your strong point.
the images you have of grass and smiles are gone, but at least the tears are the same.
you’re not sure what you really wanted, but it wasn’t this. it was never this.
within the extravagance of your everyday life-read: monotony-you are aware of a distant aching. it builds and builds, until
sometimes, it overflows.
you think that someday it will drown you. you’re not sure what this aching is-is it simple insecurity? something more? is it
medical or mental?
someone would think that with all the introspection you do, you’d have an answer by now.
looking at the stars used to make you feel safe. (calm, peaceful, other potential words for ‘secure’.)
now you look up and feel vulnerable. you’re aware of your exposed neck, of the shadows and the half-light, of your own fragility.
you are alone. completely alone, and to the potential lurking predators, an easy target.
it is for these reasons that you now rarely stop to look at the sky. it’s not the acknowledgement of your insignificance; it is your
surrender to mortality.
post-depression and your life becomes incredibly even. your temper is nothing; you find amusement in the anger of others.
apathy is easy to slip into, easy to use, and difficult to escape. it’s always harder to care for something. the potential for pain is
ridiculous.
you run from friendships, long to be close to someone, but don’t let yourself take the risk. it’s interesting that you like to be alone
and yet fear loneliness.
and just like that, you slip back under. everything is silent and dark. you are alone.
emotional speeches are not your expertise. you weave stories of pain and suffering, people who can never understand themselves.
mostly because you understand yourself too well. you know how you feel and it hurts.
but escapism is the only way to live.
Word Count: 366.
Characters/Pairings: You (me).
Notes: we were given a prompt in poetry class to write a personal reflection in the style of Walt Whitman. I failed on the second part and delved too far into the first.
Summary: your world is a cycle of apathy and sensitivity. your introspection is a tool and it's far too strong.
this is not the way you wanted this to end. you imagined-what? grass and robes and smiling faces, like some kind of family
reunion.
instead, you’ve gotten this: it is not anyone’s fault, you think, but it is still painful nonetheless. people have always told you, letting
go is not your strong point.
the images you have of grass and smiles are gone, but at least the tears are the same.
you’re not sure what you really wanted, but it wasn’t this. it was never this.
within the extravagance of your everyday life-read: monotony-you are aware of a distant aching. it builds and builds, until
sometimes, it overflows.
you think that someday it will drown you. you’re not sure what this aching is-is it simple insecurity? something more? is it
medical or mental?
someone would think that with all the introspection you do, you’d have an answer by now.
looking at the stars used to make you feel safe. (calm, peaceful, other potential words for ‘secure’.)
now you look up and feel vulnerable. you’re aware of your exposed neck, of the shadows and the half-light, of your own fragility.
you are alone. completely alone, and to the potential lurking predators, an easy target.
it is for these reasons that you now rarely stop to look at the sky. it’s not the acknowledgement of your insignificance; it is your
surrender to mortality.
post-depression and your life becomes incredibly even. your temper is nothing; you find amusement in the anger of others.
apathy is easy to slip into, easy to use, and difficult to escape. it’s always harder to care for something. the potential for pain is
ridiculous.
you run from friendships, long to be close to someone, but don’t let yourself take the risk. it’s interesting that you like to be alone
and yet fear loneliness.
and just like that, you slip back under. everything is silent and dark. you are alone.
emotional speeches are not your expertise. you weave stories of pain and suffering, people who can never understand themselves.
mostly because you understand yourself too well. you know how you feel and it hurts.
but escapism is the only way to live.