What is kept contains memories I don't want to ever forget. The innocence of my childhood, the fears of my teenager years, the searching of my twenties, wrapped up in these items I place in boxes. Some I will take with me, most I will leave here. The things I donate or throw away aren't worth remembering. Sometimes it feels good to let go of the past, leave it there and start anew.
2 AM
silence enters the night I do not speak I listen to a book and work on a puzzle I lose track of time trying to fit pieces together slowly the image begins to form the harder I focus rain falls outside may showers continue I can slightly hear the drops hitting the roof the narrator details the tragic backstory of the protagonist I pick up a piece and try not to cry
Partners
For my sister and brother-in-law
Marriage is the daily commitment You make to each other To navigate this life together. It’s a conscious choice You will continue to make. Your job isn’t to complete the other, It’s to complement each other. You bring your own unique perspectives Into this relationship. You won’t always agree. The goal isn’t to be right It’s understanding each other To communicate with openness and honesty It takes vulnerability and compromise To build a solid partnership. You may not always like each other, But you should always love one another And remember why you chose to Live life together.
Journaling
May 1st, 2023 Monday
The start of a new month. The grass is finally green, the gray skies move away, not a cloud in the sky today. I sit on the couch as I write out this journal entry. I should journal more. I know. I miss it. And yet, I don't write enough. Why? Hours blend together. The routine of day to day life. Work. Anxiety. Writing for work. Anticipating change. Exhaustion. Journaling had fallen off my routine long ago. Empty notebooks sit on my desk. I go weeks without writing anything for me. The last notebook was all over the place I stopped writing two thirds of the way through. A reflection of my mental state. I flip through old notebooks and miss this part of myself. I miss writing the way I used to.
Thoughts From Sunday
Poems of love Fill my head Lines I write Keep a list On my phone Tired at night Long days work Glass of wine Red of course Calming down from The white lights Hours a day Ready for bed Linger by fire Write this poem Thoughts from Sunday Shared on Monday I promise myself I will try To be kind To myself when Things are difficult I am human I am trying Poems of love Fill my head Cozy in bed
Healing Under the Sun
I sit on the step and take a moment for the sun. The warmth on my skin brings joy to my soul. I wiggle my toes and stretch my arms. I listen to the conversations being had across the way. The year has been cold and gloomy, this light brings me happiness. I am reminded of the beauty that comes with change. The same thing day after day for months on end left little light for the day, I celebrate this warmth, this moment, this joy that the long winter will go away. I open up my book and breathe in the words on the page. I sip my kombucha as a car drives by, Bob Marley blasting out their open window. Another reminder everything will be alright.
How to be Present
embracing the moment I am in, appreciating the day for what it is, leaving my phone in another room, keeping it out of my reach, breathing through the scary feelings my anxiety reminds me to worry, it takes a lot of work and self- awareness to live in the present, to read a book without my mind wandering away from the words on the page.
Another Another Another
my trauma response is to tense up automatically. I feel the muscles in my back and shoulders freeze and ache as my eyes begin to water uncontrollably. I wrestle with trying to breathe intentionally while getting swept up in the busyness of the day. Another shift in my eyes, another shift in the season, another shift in the weather, and I become stressed in a second. I was this way for years of my life, unable to shake the stress from my muscles, unaware of how normal this was for me until I could relax without worry once again.
Being Intentional
Poetry calms my chaotic mind. My thoughts swirling a mile a minutes filled with worry, stories, anxiety, wishes, fears, dreams, random little things, all make sense when I write. The overwhelm settles, I pick through my thoughts to find my truth. Being intentional instead of auto- pilot rewires the words in my brain to be present, if only for a moment.
Lost An Hour
I heard a man exclaim how he lost an hour of his day, the pain in his voice, as the sun set later and the night stood quiet, echoed through the air. Babies and pets don't care the clocks have jumped forward, the ones looking after them walk around feeling dread. The morning starts an hour later for my body hasn't realized the time has changed overnight.
Kelly Severseike 