Dear Diary,
The weight of my unborn words is currently suffocating my constant escapism from writing. This ink on your screen has requested to be the balm for my open wounds in an attempt to mitigate their bleeding pain. Speak! These pens keep saying. And speak this way I must as my tongue rarely moves when I am in pain.
The day is aging too fast and the red earth is wet from intaking the sky's tears all night long but the morning fog has refused to hand in the day to the sun. Grey days can be full of melancholy and unexplainable fatigue.
For the longest time, I have flirted with anxiety. I have wasted my time arguing with people who believed in their own lies. I have shamefully hidden the scars that have made me who I am in order to fit in spaces unworthy of my energy. I have deserted my pens and suppressed whatever it is that I can create.
My flaws have often surfaced. Like how I keep losing my temper over my inability to contain my emotions like they should be contained while wondering if they should be indeed contained. Ain't there emotional liberty or something?
I am asking because I am wired to feel it all.
The rage. The passion. The love. The hate.
Every one of the burns like how emblers of hell would ravage the human world.
I shape-shift and allow madness to steer my moods then I sacrifice myself at a waiting altar and watch helplessly as societal vultures tear me apart. They poke on my soft edges and ask why I gotta be different really but aren't misfits meant to stand out?
It might be a while before I regroup but when I do, I swear I have always felt whatever little defiance left within me stretching to sync my core back to my default frequency. My inner man always has this or that way of convincing me to go back home and reconnect with myself.
Her echo is what wakes me from my dark slumber as she sings pay homage to your magic and once again you rise above. You can always start by taking in a breath. Breath woman, breath! from the other side of the valley.
And as turbulent seas within seek to find calm, healing rolls in in waves. I might be in good spirits this minute but I am also known to be sinking the next. You see, courage has never really accepted the invite to stay so boldness can only do sprints here not marathons. Pace then becomes an art.
This has been my routine for a while. It has been my way of life. But if it were to change, I'd add on a self care process I read somewhere online.
~Remove thy shoes and stand on bare earth.
~Allow mother earth to take in whatever negative vibes you got going on.
~Clear your headspace for meditation and dive deep within.
~Find your center and balance.
~Listen to everything you are telling you.
~Revise it. Life is all about learning, unlearning and relearning.
~Art is the only thing you need to heal that can be found outside of you.
~Lift your chest. Drop your shoulders and breath.
Though my inner critic can be found reminding me that I don't really take advice and neither do I really take care of myself; My need for better says watch this I think that I might prove her wrong :)
wambuku w.
