The 8th 8th

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Sometimes in my mind
The words come and they just rhyme
and though my flow is like Frankenstein
Like Sally, I stitch them and I make them mine

My ‘let it be’ philosophy helps me see me
when its on top of me
Anxiety, that fucking beast
She catches my breath, won’t let me sleep
Twists my thoughts when they’re running deep
A steaming volcano about to to release

I seek shelter through my cellar door
Fingers on the handle, toes cool on the earthen floor
Seeking the anchor I’ve found here in times before
Fingers grip tight as between lives I’m torn

When everything is swirling ’round, it’s time to get deep
Bring it down a couple levels, make a mental retreat
Cling to my roots with the storm rising
Make some sense of the denseness that it always brings

Tears fall heavy like rain on the sea
It comes with the landscape, that’s why it’s so green
Fertilized and watered with the fodder of my broken dreams
Not sorry if it bothers you, I speak my truth, this is my creed
So cast the first stone if you want to blame me
for finding my healing through what grows from a seed

Sure, some think it’s a dependency
But no one says shit when I drink coffee
Habitually or recreationally
In both I find the solace that I constantly seek
There’s no shame in a crutch to help when I’m weak

They help change my mood or my mind when they turn
I sit down, take a breath, drink some coffee and burn.
I seek balance in my levels when I’m dealing with my devils
It’s just I’ve found what works for me, it’s not that I’m a rebel

A pocket full of pills could never change my view
They disconnect the very cord that tethers me to you
They leave behind the pain for clouds where everything is dreams
There is no forest for the the trees and nothing’s what it seems

I left that fog for tears and fears and ache I cannot dull
So what if a plant helps me when my plate is more than full?
It helps me swallow more than facts, it helps with calories
My pain is processed in and out with help from happy little trees

So pipe down with your judgements and with your words
until you add some facts to all the noise that you’ve heard
You never know the motive behind what one endures
I’m not running from my pain, I will grow, I’ll mature

There’s a hole in my soul, it’s ever perforated
The emptiness and frozen ache can never be equated
Every butterfly that passes by forever holds his name
He is in every baby’s cry, I’ll never be the same

Ten more fingers should be here
and ten more chubby toes
Instead my darling went to sleep and just never arose
A piece of myself died that day, no chance of resurrection
Hardening my softest parts, my life a new direction.

Sometimes the chasm opens and my heart falls right in
A vastness so dark that it leaves me frozen
I’m forced to just stand here, watching and waiting,
examining my purpose while I’m caught here debating

between somehow giving up and just giving in
but I’m finding more that giving out is where life begins
Not just in letting go, but in letting up, too
I need some self-compassion and some fucking wiggle room

I can’t fix it all,  I take one step at a time
Like typing when I’m tired to get out a simple rhyme
A structure to cut loose, a glass to hold the water
I am a bereaved mother and I am a bereaved daughter.

For more of my poetry, click here.

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7 thoughts on “The 8th 8th

  1. Oh Julie my heart aches for you….every single day. I feel your pain, wish I could take it away. It may seem crazy, but thank you for sharing your journey with me. I hope that when my turn comes, I will remember your words and learn from them. Hugs, Mama.

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  2. Beautiful. I think of you and your family daily. I have a butterfly bush in my back yard and every time I see a butterfly I think of my cousin and PatPat. Much love to you.

    Like

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