babbles

Past-selves & getting to know you.

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I think a lot of us look back on our past-selves and think, “who was that person?”
We go through transitions constantly. We change our minds, we change ourselves, and we change our surroundings. Sometimes, as we change, we get to know ourselves more – and sometimes, we get to know ourselves less. Unfamiliar territories can open up a big can of “who the hell am I,” and “why am I doing this?”

Questioning yourself is the most important part of getting to know you. Lately, I’ve been feeling unfamiliar to myself. I spend so much time cooing patients at work and focusing on other people, by the time I sit down and look in the mirror, I’m thinking –

“who dat.”
Continue reading “Past-selves & getting to know you.”

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pomes

bath;

And when I’m in a tub of my own
Vanilla-scented filth, hugging
My thighs & scraping my knees
With my teeth – I am happy.
When I am biting at my flesh,
Feeling my spine stretch
Like a mountain – when I am
Bone and war, when gravity
Pulls my nose towards the water,
And I am a threshold between
Microclimate – hot & cold bumps of real-life skin –
When nothing matters,
When the rolls of flesh don’t matter,
The prickle-hairs don’t matter,
The goosebumps, the blotches of red and white –
I am a mountain wrapped round my thighs,
And I love my body.
And I want no one
To share this moment with me.

-s.f. (2014)

pomes

degrade

Sadness to the point of incoherency.
Sadness to the point of physiological degrade,
The point of “Where am I, why am I,
I don’t want to be.”
I don’t want to be.
To the point of stopping and starting,
Stopping and
Starting,
In the middle of thoughts and words
And Continue reading “degrade”

pomes

this self

I remember this self.
This self is a lover, is kind,
Is forever apologizing
For existing in the way it does,
Causing the pain it did;
This self is a lover, a fire,
But not wild; collected and contained
In a brick prison,
Thawing your frozen toes
When Winter bites at your bones.
It isn’t easy.
This self was not easy.
This self is constantly questioning its worth,
Because for once,
Its worth matters to an outsider;
This self is a lover,
In love with the thought
Of your arms and your lips,
Your skin under its fingertips.
Your eyes, and your mind,
Are the finest treasures in this self’s life.
It isn’t easy.
Accepting that the former being,
A deity,
Has gone to rest – perhaps permanent –
And good riddance!
What a sad existence
To wish to be alone.
This self doesn’t want to be alone.
That goddess has resigned;
This self wants to give,
To love,
And to be alive.

-s.f. (2016)