nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

Healing my inner child/Parentification - ORIGINAL POEM

A day where I can breathe, what a day it shall be, where there aren't lists of things to complete, where all I have to do is be me. A day where I can sit in the sun and feel the warmth, the love, the utter joy of being alive and for that to be enough, no matter how difficult life feels or how much it is perceived as tough. I recall moments from my life and think back on them with anger, where I had to live for everyone else and was struck down when I'd sneak away to find solace for no more than an hour. Though I wished for that to count more, and to stretch those minutes into eternity, it got away from me at top speed and took with it my sense of happiness and sanity. And now I find it all repeats itself in the end, as history does when life gets in the way, and when lessons aren't learned, all to become mistakes, repeated, for another day. There's no parent or guardian to guide me through this life, and it feels as though there never had been, only to be belittled and condemned when my life began to fall apart far before my life as a teen. It was in those early days where I had to fall back in life skills enforced from birth, of how women should be, as mothers, caretakers, providers at our own expense, all to define our worth. And now I find myself lost, unable to bear the weight of this world, so I fall back into art and writing, habits I had developed ever since I was a girl. I write these words and hope to find clarity in the clutter of the mind, as I dig through the pain and anguish which has become my life. Listening to the white noise in my brain, I dig further to find the source of the pain. It resides within me, she calls out instead, she stares at me through the thin panel of my window frame, she only hopes I live for myself and no one else, and never give myself to another, to submit, to wed. She cries in the darkness and wants to be held, with my anxieties for the future herself she has wield. And so another day will pass, as I remind myself I'm no longer a child, though I must still comfort her, this younger version of myself, in order to heal these wounds, however severe or mild.A day where I can breathe, what a day it shall be, where there aren't lists of things to complete, where all I have to do is be me. A day where I can sit in the sun and feel the warmth, the love, the utter joy of being alive and for that to be enough, no matter how difficult life feels or how much it is perceived as tough. I recall moments from my life and think back on them with anger, where I had to live for everyone else and was struck down when I'd sneak away to find solace for no more than an hour. Though I wished for that to count more, and to stretch those minutes into eternity, it got away from me at top speed and took with it my sense of happiness and sanity. And now I find it all repeats itself in the end, as history does when life gets in the way, and when lessons aren't learned, all to become mistakes, repeated, for another day. There's no parent or guardian to guide me through this life, and it feels as though there never had been, only to be belittled and condemned when my life began to fall apart far before my life as a teen. It was in those early days where I had to fall back in life skills enforced from birth, of how women should be, as mothers, caretakers, providers at our own expense, all to define our worth. And now I find myself lost, unable to bear the weight of this world, so I fall back into art and writing, habits I had developed ever since I was a girl. I write these words and hope to find clarity in the clutter of the mind, as I dig through the pain and anguish which has become my life. Listening to the white noise in my brain, I dig further to find the source of the pain. It resides within me, she calls out instead, she stares at me through the thin panel of my window frame, she only hopes I live for myself and no one else, and never give myself to another, to submit, to wed. She cries in the darkness and wants to be held, with my anxieties for the future herself she has wield. And so another day will pass, as I remind myself I'm no longer a child, though I must still comfort her, this younger version of myself, in order to heal these wounds, however severe or mild.