Prose Poetry
The Journey of Lonely Souls
Give your pain somewhere to live, other than your body.
Some of us are designed to be alone. And in that aloneness,
We are destined to create beautiful things.
Things that give a sense of solidarity,
To those who exist in solitude.
Some of us have had our spirit broken so many times,
That we’ve come to an unshatterable whole.
A fraction of who we used to be.
But still; a solid, resilient remnant.
Some of us have faced the ends of our lives, repeatedly
And lived to tell the tale
Of how hard it is to extinguish a life.
We know now, the human body is meant for survival.
Some of us have overcome the performance pressure of living.
With each passing day,
Becoming less and less of the us we are expected to be,
And more and more of the us we need ourselves to be.
Some of us have learned to let our pain live somewhere other than our body;
A painting of a face with a cut-off ear;
A vase with gold running through the cracks;
A letter to an abuser, long gone.
Some of us have learned the hard way that being isn’t a costume to put on.
It’s a muscle to build. Bit by bit. Day by day.
We build it by continuing to capture fragments of our lives onto paper.
Into sculpture and painting. In Shorts and Reels.
We build it by stepping out of the fear,
By sharing what we create,
Inviting other perspectives
And being receptive to feedback.
Some of us write till our fingers ache.
We write to remember that writing is an exercise in authenticity.
We write to avoid our writing morphing into a mere show for an audience. Always searching for words to capture our essence.
We write with urgency, because we have stuff to say that matters.
It matters to us. It matters to those suffering in silence.
We write, seeking bonds with those who have also known brokenness.
We write to scour our souls clean.
Thank you so much for reading. If my writing resonates with you, you can find more on my Medium profile.
