we met in the only childhood room I ever had to myself. Teddy-bears and other stuffed animals danced above my head, and Luther Vandross’s Here and Now played softly on the radio. I was only 5, maybe 6 when yo told me my gradparents I just visited in the motherland would soon get old and die. I cried.
and here you are more than three decades later. keeping me up at night, then haunting my in my dreams. squatting in a vacancy in my head that does not belong to you. a monster under my bed. in the car. at my desk. on the bathroom floor. tears on my pillow. struggling in my soul. i wish you would go away.
anxiety you are the twin flame i wish i could extinguish. you are relentless. you are manipulative. i hate you. i resent you. i want you to die. but. if you die, i die too.
so instead, i will sit with you. i will nurture you. i will understand you. i will take care of you. i will empathize with you. i will learn from you. i will teach you. i will thank you. i will wish you well, then wish you away.
no longer my twin flame, but a spark of light. a reminder of how extraordinary it is to feel things, and a reminder of how far i’ve come.
#writingwithRupi Today I participated in my second, online poetry workshop with the amazing Rupi Kaur. In this exercise, the initial prompt was to think of something you were struggling with. Each stanza then had their own prompts. We weren’t allowed to stop, or make edits. The whole process was stressful yet cathartic, and I was humbled at how many participants were such amazing writers. I hope you enjoy this little poem from someone that is not a poet. Keep in mind I’m artist, and I’m sensitive about my shit #shoutoutBadu.
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