I treat my own chest as a punching bag
Then still wonder why I get none-flowing, gasping for air panics when an event occurs that triggers me
That my tears fade and dry out because I'm afraid I won't have any air left to breathe in
This boxing match I have with myself has lasted for as long as I could remember.
Round 8 was when I started to lose my stamina and now it's 19
My vision blur
Took shots, both sided hooks from my best friend, parasites
I've convinced myself they are trying to revive me like how doctors in hospitals use the defibrillator to get a patient's heart up and running
But instead mine keeps being reborn yet still dying
I never thought breathing would become such a sport when trying to get self back
Try to love yourself...
But I can't say it like you did the other day
Thought jotting down notes being would help or even meditation
No
I keep waking up at 2/3am
fighting the urge to repeat the words, to say i hate myself
true journey of recovering self
YOU ARE READING
The Art of learning to be human
PoëzieThis is a collection of poems about just being, experiencing every human emotion. Learning how to forgive yourself and how to be brave. How to love again and being kind to yourself after certain realizations and heartbreak. With every lesson learned...
