Loss of feeling

Trust your instincts, they say.  Fight harder, they say.  Pray and let go, they say . . .

As I sat, eagle focused on the screen, I watched The Hunting Ground documentary, silently and alone.  I watched because I needed to.  I listened to the survivors and wondered why I hadn't been that brave.  Why I couldn't speak up as much as others.  And I remembered that I had tried one year.  "Take Back The Night" on my undergraduate campus . . . one year I had tried.  I decided to volunteer and pass out flyers and pamphlets for the event.  I did well, up until the actual date.  I just couldn't show up for the date.  Something inside me felt like a fraud.  Like I was somehow telling people to be brave and fight the urge to be silenced, and yet I was doing that very thing.  I was indeed silent.

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I need to breathe.  Or not to.  Sometimes I can't decide.  It's though my mind doesn't understand.

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Take a deep breath, and open your eyes.  I know it's hard to trust guys.  In time you'll be open enough to love.  Or be loved.  They tell you it gets better with time.  And yet you're still searching for that moment where your life falls into place.  You take a breath, and forget to exhale.  Maybe for a second -- you can feel normal.  Do you even know what that feels like?  Take a deep breath and keep your eyes closed.  Either way your dreams merge into a shattered reality.  The reality is there are feelings that you never have been able to shake.  From a young child up until now . . . Moments that have been etched so deep into your body, though you try to scrape them out, you just can't.  And you try.  Marks become just another part of the journey.  Children pound their fists and heads into the wall, in an attempt to forget.  The dizziness overshadows the day-nightmares.  And the older you get, the punishment gets angrier.  Like the slashes used to feel -- you dig until you're numb enough to close your eyes.

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I isolate myself when it gets to be too much.  Nothing is worse than having those you love, hurt.  But what happens when you hate the person staring back at you?  What do you do when you've been hating yourself since you were a young child?  How do you fight the urge to disappear, when you've never felt visible?

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It's hard to admit hurt, but easy to inflict it upon yourself. And there are moments where handling reality becomes too much, and breathing doesn't feel like an option.  Letting go makes more sense -- especially when you feel lost.  And those times frequent more than you'd like.  

I forgot to function the other day/ While laughing at myself, I reflected back to you/
That stare/ Those eyes/ That face/ Ingrained so deep shutting eyelids scratched you further into my mind/

Punishment

This poem is one that was written a while ago (https://www.msu.edu/~claykyra/punished.htm).  It was one of my many response to injustice.  Particularly the injustice of self hate, as it deals with "dealing" with domestic abuse and other forms of pain.  Because this "Punishment" still takes place, and it IS "Black History Month," I thought it appropriate to post this poem. 

Punishment

Punishment is slaves, hanging from trees

Punishment is blood, dripping from your knees

Punishment, is the cuts you do to feel pain

You can't understand where they're coming from, unless you've felt the same

Punishment is being pushed down the stairs in front of your kids

Getting back up, only to be smacked back down

Anger in your mind, still Love in your heart

Never going to separate, cause the children's question of "why?" is just too great

Sticking around, punished awhile

Punished is what I want for that person

To feel pain, like he made you feel

To go insane, without knowing someone will be there

Punishment is "Being Alone," so without, your mind just forms doubts

Punishment is knowing there is nothing you can do

To make amends with the evil, you punish yourself too

Punishment is going through things, you shouldn't have to go through

So why are we being punished, for the things he's done to you?