bedtime poetry

I watch my lifeblood fall
Like rivers might fall from luminous clouds in the sky
Pierced like overripe lemons

The bitter taste of me

““`

I’ve been going to DBT for almost a year it would seem. I’ve learned things. But what has changed? I might be a better poet. I’m better at controlling myself in social situations. But still, my emotions run wild, naked and willful through the streets. I have the same types of responses to the same questions. For example, who am I?

I am my loves and my fears. You cannot pin me down because my heart beats to the rhythm of something greater than you or I. My own sadness could fill a well or drown a nation. I am skinless and burning. I am empathy that strips away all titles and stations. I am the mind that doesn’t forget, for better or for worse. I am perfect hope that burns white fire against the walls of a diseased ribcage, encased in flesh that rots with an alien sickness. I speak only truth or lies, and each will cut me just the same. That was true, though.

God forgive me, for I am sin. I am the one who knows and has chosen sin. I am the one who feels and still chooses to harm. I claim to never doubt you, but I doubt you every time I doubt myself, and I know this is true. Our hearts are so close, Lord, yet I scorn you like I scorn everyone else that loves me. I know how it feels to be well, but I’m too weak to take it for myself. Do I prefer life on my knees? Teach me to stand up only long enough to work for those less fortunate than myself. God, make me a fountain of love.