Tag Archives: Know Thyself

Something Whispers

When I am empty

That is it.

But I always seem

To fill up

Once again

 

Just so you can

Poke holes in me

Poisonous words

Lashing into the

Soul you always

…what word goes here?

 

Shaped into something

Beyond

Recognition

 

Soft thumps

Abrade the inside

Of my rib cage

And something odd

Flitters through

My chest

 

It isn’t life

Its tubing

Left there from

When I hated myself

A little less

 

Electronic beeping

Reminding me

To pretend

I am human

Breathing

Alive

 

I am not

Not today

Not inside this skin

Which itches

And weakens

 

Not inside

This mind

That falls down

So easily

 

Sometimes it seems

So silly

That I ever thought

I could be real

 

To live with grace

To walk without oiled joints

Or charged lights

Behind my eyes

From which everything

Was stolen

 

(by me)

(something whispers)

 

I forgot

I was the one

Behind the mask

Wearing the gloves

Leaving no trace

 

Can anyone see me?

 

I forgot

I was the one

Who let this happen

Who roused from slumber

And did nothing

Who watched from behind

Serpent eyes

And let you die

 

Losing no sleep

Losing no hope

Because I never

Gave myself any

 

Not now

 

Can anyone hear me?

 

I don’t want to remember

The disjointed story

Of who I was

When I bled

 

…when was that?

Was it real?

 

I wonder

If it would hurt less

If I was never human at all

 

Simply a stain on the porcelain

Shadow

Slipping down the time

The sand

Shivering down the hourglass

 

Unnoticed

But watching

Examining

Remembering

The very definition of all

And yet so utterly devoid

 

Knowing all

Understanding none of it

But remembering

Remembering

 

I forgot

How to tell the truth

Or which it was

 

Can you feel me?

 

Not now…

 

I forgot

How to speak

Without a tongue

How to see

Without a spine

 

Can I walk

Knowing the many times

My very breath crawled

 

Is it possible

That I never really forgot

 

Why?

Why do we torture ourselves?

How many of us are there

In here?

This one little body

 

Pieces hiding

Shuffling about

Slipping behind curtains

Fixing smeared mascara

Redressing so no one notices

 

Their stories

Are shuttered up

Dust chokes the sunrises

Moonlight can’t hide

The shadows

 

Our stories

Not to be remembered

Not now…

 

I forgot

How the tip of a fingernail

Could hold so many

Dead skin cells

 

They aren’t all mine

 

(yes they are)

(something whispers)

 

And I deny everything

Black lipstick that doesn’t

Smudge

Or leave

Photos behind

 

Because I can’t remember

How to tell myself

The truth

Of it all

 

When I do

I wonder

Would it be better

To never have lived inside

This damaged structure

So stone like

Easily breakable

 

And no, I wasn’t

Made by accident

Why does everyone ask?

We all clamber around

Waiting for a story to be

Unfolded

It wasn’t an accident

We remember

I shake my head

We know

Our skin

My skin

We feel

 

It’s like they can see

I’m made from

Different coincidences

Kissing beneath the

Atom bomb

 

Waiting for something

To change

Or someone

To notice

The shadows

Etched into my bones.

 

(can anyone see me?)

(no, I don’t think I can)

(something whispers)

 

By Daphne Shadows

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Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

I’m Not Done v.2

The Valley

Isn’t a place

You know

 

It is where

We live

Where we

Feel

Where we

know

 

 

Where we

Often

Decide

To

Deny

 

 

The light

Isn’t awaiting

Our creation

 

It exists

Within

Me

 

In

You

In

All

In

Us

 

 

 

By Daphne Shadows

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Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

THYSELF, MYSELF

IM SITTING WITH A BUNCH

OF LITTLE PIECES

I RIPPED THEM UP

I PUT THEM THERE

THEY HURT AND THEY CRY

AND THEY KIND OF KNOW

WHY

THEY ALWAYS KNEW

THEY ALWAYS KEPT

KEPT QUIET

WATCHED

REMEMBERED

I ALWAYS KNEW

DIDN’T I?

 

I GUESS THEY’RE PEACE

EACH BROKEN SHRED

THEY’RE SITTING THERE

STARING AT ME

THEY’RE ALWAYS MINE

EVEN TORN

OKAY

OKAY

SO WHAT DO I DO WITH

THEM EACH PIECE?

BROKEN SMOTHERED

USED WORN

 

I GUESS I SUPPOSE MAYBE

THE POINT THE NEED

THE URGE THE

DESIRE

IS TO FEEL THEM

HURT

THAT’S WHAT THEY ARE

 

IM SITTING WITH A BUNCH OF

LITTLE PIECES

I RIPPED THEM UP

I PUT THEM THERE

 

THEY’RE CRYING

AND I DON’T WANT TO

THEY’RE CALLING LIKE AN ANIMAL

SHORN WITH PAIN

MADNESS AND SADNESS

CLAWING INTO EACH PIECE

THEY’RE MY WAY TO PEACE

ARENT THEY?

 

I’M ALL THESE LITTLE PIECES

I DON’T WANT TO BE

ALL THESE LITTLE PIECES

ARE MY WAY BACK

TO ME

 

 

by Daphne Shadows

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Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

Demons Within

“When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you.”

  • African Proverb

 

Do you know yourself?

Are you aware of yourself?

Do you know what you want, really? What you dream of, what you fear, what you desire, what you do not like…

Do you notice yourself?

Or do you go along with everyone and everything going on outside of you?

 

Know Thyself.

It’s the only way to find the truth of this proverb.

 

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Arrogance

Arrogance frightens me. Not the arrogance of others. The idea that one day I could become arrogant. What horrid atrocities would that wreak in my life? Which disgusting tributes to pride would I commit? I don’t want to know.

 

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Lotus Love

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I wish my life was as peaceful as this lotus flower makes me feel.

This lotus flower knows what’s up.
The gal that took this photo (source found here) knows how to capture bliss, serenity, peace.

And screw finding this peace in my life.
I wish I had the peace inside myself that this lotus flower makes me feel.
It starts inside and oozes out of you, into your life.

What makes you feel peaceful?
Jeeze – what makes me feel peaceful?

 

“I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself, did I know who I really was.”
– Sade Andria Zabala

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Non-Static Tomorrows

The more I try to put a magnifying glass to “who I am” and try to figure it out, the farther away I fall. The vaguer the answers get.

I know who I am. Even if that means, right now, I don’t have all the answers about myself or my motivations or my deep, dark, hidden secrets from myself.

The more I try to peg down who I am in specifics, the more I lose my ability to define my identity.

Who I am, is someone who changes.

Every day.

 

Today, I don’t have all the answers.

I’m the chick who cried in a room full of people who understand her, and didn’t want to get the headache that might turn to a migraine because she cried. The chick who doesn’t cry out loud often. But feels safe in that room.

Today, I’m the gal who prepared a small lesson to teach tomorrow about self-reliance and tied it in with how to fold an origami heart.

I’m the person who listened to her neighbors shriek at each other and wondered if I could put them in a story and fix them.

 

Today, I’m Daphne. I was Daphne yesterday. I’ll be her tomorrow.

But today, I’m not the same as yesterday and I won’t be the same tomorrow.

 

Today I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety and come out of it with a touch of serenity in my rib cage. I’ve been honest with myself, even though it hurt, and felt better for it.

I’ve felt a touch of hope. Hope that I’ve changed. Hope that I’ll continue to grow.

I’m the one who read this post and felt an immediate connection with her words.

Who laughs a real laugh, content, even though my insides are a mess.

The same Daphne who hasn’t taken all of her Halloween decorations down yet, because hey, bats and pumpkin-skeletons are part of Fall too!

The gal who took her dog out in the freezing cold and thought of all the homeless who must be shivering in old clothes, and wished she could save the world. The same gal who realized a lot of people don’t want to be saved. Not really.

The same Daphne who grinned at herself. California isn’t freezing, not compared to other places.

To me, it’s freezing.

I am the writer who watches Scooby-Doo reruns while writing about death, rebirth, pain, suffering, hope, and a woman who fights herself to freedom.

 

Yesterday… I don’t want to think about yesterday. It hurts. And the hurt slides back in so easily, just at the mere mental mention of it. It pervades.

But the Daphne I am today is okay with that.

Today I have choices, I’ve decided.

Today, I can be all of me. Vulnerable. Raw.

I keep telling you this. Because I know it’s true. I feel it from the soles of my feet to the hollows behind my eyes.

 

Meet Daphne Shadows. She takes a selfie about once a year. So she's terrible at it. Don't judge.

Meet Daphne Shadows. She takes a selfie about once a year. So she’s terrible at it. Don’t judge. And she’s been crying. Also, she’s upside down. Again.

 

I know where I’ve been, what I’ve been through, how I’ve coped, how I’ve survived. What I was thinking, what went on inside me even as I smiled and people bought, all the time, that I was doing fabulously. I know what’s brought me joy. What I’ve tried and failed to do. What mistakes I’ve made. I know how I’ve grown. What I’ve accomplished.

I know who I was yesterday. Last night. This morning. A few hours ago.

 

I know who I am.

Even if I don’t want to own up to it.

I am the Daphne who expels misery via the ink she types or pens, embedding it into pages.

I know who I am even if I focus on what I feel are my failings and can’t seem to find any successes until I talk to someone else who truly knows me.

Even if I hide who I am, from myself.

 

I know who I am. I am learning to be all of me, out loud.

Even if I don’t know a thing about my tomorrows.

 

Tomorrow I’ll be different. Tomorrow, I’ll be the same me.

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