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I’m the cling-clang of coins in my pocket,
and loose paperclips in a desk drawer.
Like lipstick and gum in a lady’s purse,
I’m a kid’s toys strewn about on the floor.

When I walk my insides rattle about,
like a  janitor’s keys without his ring,
like groceries bagged by junior baggers,
I’m jumbled as a cat’s unraveled string.

I’m less ordered than a box of Legos,
or debris remaining after a storm.
Nuts and bolts in an amateur toolbox
click-clack and click-clack with even more form.

I’m just a package of random loose parts,
though the world sees me as perfectly fine.
Life is making order of that chaos,
but it’s my life and that chaos is mine.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
muteD Mar 2019
my head hurts .
it always hurts .
something always hurts .
whether it’s my head or my heart
something is always in pain .
torturous pain..
the type of pain that’ll make you scream ,
scream until your throat is bleeding .
scream until you can’t scream no more .
scream until your scream is tired of you .

that’s what I think I need to do .
I need to scream
and get out all of my anger .
I need to let go .
but I can’t .
I can’t let my dam crack open .
duct tape won’t keep that flood at bay .
all of my control
would have bolted for the door .
and why?
why because
my anger would like nothing more than to swallow me whole .
to drown me in nothing but sorrow
and an intense feeling of
hate .
seasoned and conditioned just right ,
my anger would have me hating everyone .
even more so than I hate myself .
and I do hate myself .
I hate the person I used to be
and I hate the person I’m becoming .
I can’t lie to myself anymore ,
I really don’t know who I am
outside of my madness .
outside of each one of my issues
lies a baby girl who used to pure .
untainted and not molded yet ,
a perfect example of how anything can happen to anyone .
doesn’t matter who you are .
Anger has a way into shaping you into the person it wants you to be..
Floor Mar 2019
And I find it so hard to search for words to say
That my sanity went down the drain
Like the leftover soap seeping off my hair
It stings my eyes and turns me blind
The monster picks the moment like a greedy child picking a flower
It closes my throat so oxygen is a word I can't remember anymore
Thoughts drip down my body and I find myself drowning in the condensed walls of my mind
With damp fingers I try to reach for a strategy
But I seem to have lost my sanity
Aaron Feb 2019
Where should I begin?
I really cannot say;
A circle knows no start or end,
Yet I know no other way.

I really cannot say
I understand myself.
Yet I know no other way;
In every eye I see wealth.

I understand myself:
A mirror, nothing more.
In every eye I see wealth,
And I open every door.

A mirror, nothing more;
A circle knows no start or end;
If I’m to open every door…
Where should I begin?
silvervi Feb 2019
No way, no face to look at,
No touch to dive into,
No taste of sweetness,
No electrifying feelings.

No time to give to,
No one to give the time to either.
No tension, despite of illusions.
No hope, only dellusions.

Happy thoughts aren't stable, no more.
Just impulsive, in circles they go.
Chased by fear, just like every emotion,
Drowning in the cold deep ocean...

Of Loneliness, Searching and Hoping,
But senseless,
The belief is gone.
I held onto it, for too long.

The focus now is on what matters.
But isn't what should matter - love?
It's complicated. Self-love is the basis.
Is it? My way is lost and I am standing here.
Wondering.
Love drips down from my fingertips,
A few more seconds and I let it slip.
I'm crawling on the edge of this chasm
Right along the brink of abyss
Spiraling down a void
Even light cant escape

Who Am I?
Time spent in obsessive contemplation
Of infinite paths of infinite ifs.
How many if only buts today alone?
I could be infinitely different.

My head hurts, my soul is so uncertain.
I’m this, and not infinite other ifs.
I am from mistakes of pure carelessness,
I am random intentional choices.

My world is what it is, but is that all?
What remains of other infinite ifs?
I have memories of worlds that weren’t,
Of worlds that might be infinitely worse.

There is an unknown me inside of me,
Who pursued some other infinite ifs.
And yet, what if I chose right every time?
What if that unknown me is also me?
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
There between discontent and enchantment
Sits the self, seeking awe and amazement,
In response to perceived monotony
From the loss of its own autonomy.

There between morning’s hopeful open eyes
Sits the self, no different from last sunrise,
Welcoming heavy eyelids of midnight
To close one more day that seemed not quite right.

There between poems and the literal
Sits the self, with insight ephemeral,
Waging war with the real and imagined
Encounters with thoughts so undisciplined.

There between what is and what can become
Sits the self, embodied delirium,
Each unique but with no definition,
An unresolved eternal condition.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
She sat beside herself and asked,
“Do you know where this feeling’s from?”
Her self stared back at her, unmasked,
And wondered who she had become.

Who but herself could ever know,
These things she thought that she once knew?
“I barely know you now, and so,
When was the last time you were you?”

The two of them, just her and her,
Each tried her best to understand.
Her self said, “Why are you so sure
You’re not exactly who you planned?”

“I wanted to be you instead,
Before you filled me with regret.”
Her wounded self smiled back and said,
“Perhaps you haven’t been you yet.”
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Floor Feb 2019
She plays violin on her wrists
Sinfully beautiful symphonies appear on her skin
Like paper sheets her blood will flow
With eyes determined on the price
She watches the last bit of her soul seep out of her wounds
A lonely sound escapes her lips
The last lonely sound she'll ever make
Now she's in a different place
And replaced the violin for clouds
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