in_fragments

o҉n the jo҉urney҉ to҉ who҉lenes҉s҉.

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  • in_fragments 1d

    I wasn't well-behaved because I was mature for my age. It was because I was a traumatized child, prone to outbursts, intense emotional dysregulation, and selective mutism. Children are not meant to be so silent they disintegrate into the walls. I WAS TRAUMATIZED.
    #pod #poem #acrostic #trauma #family @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    The Truth of the
    Mature Child


    I was lauded for my maturity as a child, my
    Withdrawn and obedient silence as I
    Accepted my roles, seen but never heard,
    Sitting as a pretty extention of my elders.
    They loved their idyllic ideas of me, their own
    Realities projected onto my image-
    An observant girl, taught not to question,
    Undertaking any emotional labor for them.
    My presence made them all comfortable
    And secure in every twisted illusion.
    They would say how I was so well-behaved
    In my little corner, waiting for the adults to be ready,
    Zoning out to be released on good behavior;
    Except for when I was crying, screaming, cursing,
    Driven to explosions by their quiet injustices...
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 1d

    "Beyond my lamp expands
    the dark and colorless night-
    what is that shuffling I hear,
    that spirit just outside the light?
    I cannot see
    further than my feet,
    but still I must move
    until I find the morning.
    The possibilities give me courage
    to feel what I cannot face
    in the obscurity, until I see it
    in a different kind of way,
    developing an entirely new
    seventh sense, adopting
    more resiliency
    the longer I walk
    and contend with my fear.
    I want to be inspired
    by all that the darkness hides,
    all the unknowns hovering
    over me, but I am just becoming
    overwhelmingly
    tired. It would be so easy
    to fall asleep in the intrepid gloom,
    my own somber midnight
    I'd never have to wake from.
    This gloaming is going
    to drive me into madness
    before I ever get the chance
    to seize my purpose
    or any sunbeams."
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    Barely staying sane, hbu? I just want to rest. I'm not at rest even when I'm at rest, u feel? But I'm trying to stay positive otherwise I'll die ��
    #pod #poem #dark #light #mentalhealth @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Resiliency Within Madness

    Beyond my lamp expands
    the dark and colorless night...
    I want to be inspired
    by all that the darkness hides...
    This gloaming is going
    to drive me into madness
    before I ever get the chance
    to seize my purpose
    or any sunbeams.
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 1d

    Memory Lane- Things That Kill?

    Memory Lane is a wild valley,
    with shaky fissures below the ground
    and dangerous hidden trenches on every side.
    I traverse with only
    myself and my notebooks,
    no armor against the elements,
    and no protection agaisnt
    the frequent avalanches that pummel me,
    sharp rocks that fall
    from the cliffs high above.
    It is a lane I dare not venture
    too far down- but I know
    I cannot reach the future
    or the key to any closure if I do not go.
    To leave or not to leave
    has been the question burning in me.
    What if memories are things that kill?
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 2d

    Emotional flashbacks. Sometimes. Alot of the time. Emotional flashbacks. :/
    #pod #poem #dirty #mud #pain #trauma #thoughts @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    MUD GIRL

    Sometimes my soul gets covered
    in mud. Sometimes I feel
    eternally filthy. My insides
    become violated by the grime,
    and no ablution can wash
    any of it away.
    I sense something wounded, wriggling
    at the center of my heart,
    something haphazardly buried alive,
    some decay that comes
    from the core of me- and I
    have no idea why
    I'm so dirty, or what I did
    to deserve all this squalor.
    Even after I work through
    the unease to make my skin
    spotless and slick,
    even after every pore
    has been thoroughly "refreshed"
    and "rejuvenated,"
    I still feel slimy, defiled
    and subhuman.
    Sometimes I can't shower,
    because the sludge is impossible
    to scrub off.
    I cannot be cleansed
    of all the sin imparted on me,
    it oozes from every corner
    and make parts of my body vibrate
    in terror-
    clusters of cells pulsating
    in discomfort,
    sections of bone
    stuck in fight and flight mode.
    I am Mud Girl, nothing more-
    never clean enough
    to deserve to feel safe and beautiful.
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 2d

    "I've found a new kind of magic carpet.
    It's holographic and iridescent
    and can surpass the tallest skyscrapers
    into higher realms, where time slips and slows;
    where the past is but whispers in the wind,
    and the future is right under my nose.
    It will take me anywhere I could choose,
    but unsure, I still have yet to use it-
    taking time to admire the coloring,
    honing the skills that will let me take hold,
    dreaming of all the places I will go,
    the unknown spaces I will discover;
    at this moment, I sit with my weakness,
    fragility is all that lies in me-
    but soon I'll transform it, then I'll be gone,
    way up there, flying through the air-
    when my body's healthy enough once more
    to take flight, take the world and sky by storm."
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    Gotta long way to go... forever tired. But still we move.
    #pod #poem #magic #thoughts @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Future Magic Carpet

    I've found a new kind of magic carpet.
    It's holographic and iridescent
    and can surpass the tallest skyscrapers
    into higher realms...
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 2d

    "The woman set out searching
    for the Fountain of Youth.
    She swam through dazzling lagoons,
    discovered dozens of ancient cave pools,
    natural and glimmering
    with eternal allure;
    but she could never fully
    enjoy her journeys,
    never beheld the water for what it was,
    as it could not help her stop the clock
    and she remained aged,
    aggrieved and low-spirited,
    no younger when she would reemerge.
    She was old and shriveled
    by the time she never found it,
    her whole life spent believing
    that the young body is true beauty,
    and once it is gone,
    all happiness goes too-
    she never learned that true beauty
    is ageless and evolving,
    beyond the fleeting illusion of youth,
    and there are things
    that can only be seen
    through the poise and wonderment
    of older eyes.
    The woman died an old, regretful lady-
    she wasted so much time
    chasing down her past,
    she didn't even notice
    as the present passed her by.
    She was so focused
    on finding that one special 'cure',
    that magnificent spring
    of holy water that would fix her;
    she never realized
    that aging is not a defect to be fixed,
    not a threat to be reversed-
    but rather an era to be waded into
    with compassion and grace,
    more love and prudence than you knew
    in your younger heart.

    She never got the chance
    to experience the fulfillment of growth-
    like so many others, as we speak,
    simmering in bitterness
    and chasing youth to their graves;
    I will not be one of them,
    and in this way I can stay
    forever blossoming."
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    The mindset of youth doesn't have to die as you age, but you kill it as soon as you start chasing.
    #pod #poem #story #youth #grow #old #life #love #death @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Fountains Of Unyouth

    The woman set out searching
    for the Fountain of Youth.
    She swam through dazzling lagoons,
    discovered dozens of ancient cave pools,
    natural and glimmering
    with eternal allure;
    but she could never fully
    enjoy her journeys...
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 4d

    "I cannot look
    at my childhood photos.
    I see them
    and feel nothing.
    I never feel
    like I was the little girl
    in each picture,
    I can never remember
    if the smiles were genuine
    or forced for the camera-
    a complete disconnect
    between what I see
    and what I feel
    in response to it.

    I feel nothing-
    or at least,
    I felt nothing
    at first.

    But the nothingness,
    the mental blankness and gaps
    have been a bit stirred,
    ushering the apathy
    to shift into AVERSION.

    Pick a photo, any photo,
    and I will sidestep it
    just the same.
    I think I was once
    that little girl,
    though I can't help but feel
    as if I didn't
    live through these moments,
    like they're just not mine
    to connect to.

    Childhood memories,
    I crave them
    yet I loathe them-
    desperate, but dreading
    the thought of remembering.

    All these photographs,
    scrapbooks full of them,
    they go through me
    like my eyes are black holes,
    my past an experience
    I somehow
    didn't live through-
    this fractured life
    I don't recognize,
    but maybe I could,
    if I looked...
    So why am I
    so afraid to look?
    What is it
    my body thinks
    it will find within
    the younger versions
    of itself?

    What are
    the painful realities
    these little girls
    were hiding?

    Sometimes I think
    I'm more afraid
    of harboring all
    this suffering, and still
    finding nothing at all."
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    The prompt: Look through old family photographs and choose some to write poems about, was difficult to get through for me. Idk when I will finally be able to look at myself and understand.
    #pod #poem #prompt #family #pictures #childhood #life #trauma #thoughts @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Childhood Photos (CANTLOOK)

    I think I was once
    that little girl,
    though I can't help but feel
    as if I didn't
    live through these moments,
    like they're just not mine
    to connect to...
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 4d

    "Faith in God
    is a gradually shaken thing-
    it is not something shattered
    all at once, but slowly penetrated-
    a billion tiny cracks in glass
    and whiplashes in perspective,
    until it collapses
    underneath the uneven weight
    and fragile foundations
    of itself.

    It happened to me
    after a series of wicked events-
    a litany of strange, proscribed questions
    nobody knew how to answer-
    numerous attempts to fit in
    to the congregation I grew up with,
    despite feeling as though
    I needed to force an image
    of somebody I was not
    to be accepted;
    I was always
    a fussy child, stubborn. I
    could never so eagerly follow
    what I did not feel in my heart,
    I contested too much
    to be told what to think-
    saw the badness of the world,
    all its faintest splinters, already
    not easily swayed by their stories;
    a wrathful child wondering why God
    would never answer back,
    an alienated little girl
    who would cry and scream,
    besieged by such hellish emotions,
    too young too understand such fire-
    and sleep amongst the ash
    longing to articulate her confusion
    to someone, anyone who would listen-
    but no one listened, no one seemed
    to notice-
    as any child who
    feels too much has experienced,
    eventually, nobody knew
    what to do with me-
    nothing they could say satisfied me,
    still leaving me
    feeling empty and unseen.
    Something must have been wrong
    with me,
    for the Holy Spirit seemed
    to care for me least of all.

    Why did God create me this way,
    if this is not the way
    I was supposed to be?

    Too many queries
    left lingering after masses,
    too much doubt
    after the eucharist was consumed,
    too much shame
    at being unable to change for them
    and chant with them
    like they wanted me to;
    so, one day, I decided to stop.

    I left the church
    when I turned thirteen-
    that was the age
    when they made you decide
    in a ritual called Confirmation;
    it required an oath of commitment
    to beliefs I did not hold,
    a willingness to come-of-age
    in a place I did not feel I should be;
    it was never anybody's fault,
    just happened to be
    who I became was incompatible
    and they couldn't manage
    to ensnare me fully-
    but Part of Me
    still wishes we could be there now,
    with the loving community
    that wanted to grow us-
    the one we felt alienated from,
    the one we never realized didn't really
    love anyone,
    unless you behaved
    and thought like them.

    To this day, my heart
    is made of the dazzling stained glass
    from my childhood church;
    the color, life and vibrancy
    from every breed of holy space
    holds a special kind of meaning for me;
    my spirituality is less organized now,
    I worship God in different ways
    and that is okay, it's all a part
    of the game-
    For this God, this omnipotent force
    we have been mythologizing
    for millennia-
    it is in actuality, unlike anything
    we as humans have the capacity
    to imagine-
    but we try our best
    with a thousand different descriptions
    of little men, just like us;
    we are our only scope of reference,
    hardwired somehow
    for faith in things we cannot see,
    beings that will never visit us-
    I hold a different God close to my heart,
    my own philosophy for faith,
    equal parts excited and unnerved
    at the idea that I could be wrong.

    My God
    is not the same as yours,
    and neither of us can ever be correct.
    These are just the games
    He likes to play with us;
    do you not think He still loves
    all those with alternative ways
    of worship?

    Do you not think
    He is elated at the beauty
    of His children reaching out for him
    from every new angle they can find?"
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    I don't care much for religion, but I believe everyone is entitled to their own spiritual journey. Just because my relationship with it is different from yours, that doesn't mean I will end up in Hell for not doing it "perfectly" enough, aka, within an organized ideology. My own father expects me not to be with him in Heaven when he dies, and I just have to be like... Alright man... I guess we'll see...
    #pod #poem #religion #church #spirituality #life #love #thoughts @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Faith
    Is A Gradually Shaken Thing


    Faith in God
    is a gradually shaken thing-
    it is not something shattered
    all at once, but slowly penetrated-
    a billion tiny cracks in glass
    and whiplashes in perspective,
    until it collapses
    underneath the uneven weight
    and fragile foundations
    of itself.
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 4d

    "I haven't had the courage
    to look into the mirror lately-
    I'm always met with
    some warped and darker
    variant of myself,
    occasionally graced
    with moments of clarity
    where I see the real me-
    and she is worse than any
    emaciated wretch
    I could twist up in my head.

    The other week I stood
    and looked at myself,
    traced the worry lines
    on my forehead
    and the smile lines
    along my nose and mouth,
    pinching at sickly pale skin
    and pulling at dark bags
    underneath weary eyes,
    staring back
    into the dull abyss
    that I am.
    I turned to leave
    when I heard
    somebody speaking;
    the girl inside the mirror
    stared straight back at me-
    she told me she WAS me,
    the part of me that holds on
    to every sight I couldn't
    bear to keep.
    We were two eras trapped
    between a single pane of glass.
    She told me she was tired
    of being ignored,
    and only seeing my pathetic face.
    There are regions
    of this world
    she is dying to see,
    adventures she is desperate
    to embark on,
    but she is stuck
    in a universe of suffering,
    our own version of Hell
    she had crafted to shelter herself
    while she watched
    as I went on with life- or,
    as she puts it, squandered
    my life.
    She is tired
    of being passive. Taking time,
    growing stronger without me.
    When I returned
    to her mirror last night,
    she tricked me
    and pulled me inside.

    I tried to scream
    as she switched places with me,
    but I lost all control
    of my body
    and was thrust onto
    the other side,
    into a new
    and unfamiliar realm-
    cold and dangerous,
    where the only other way out
    is through the murk.
    My mirror-self gazed
    smugly back at me
    from my own bedroom,
    and I felt the energy
    drain out of me
    as she put on makeup,
    tried on clothes,
    fixed her hair-
    got ready to go out
    and pretended to be me."
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    Am I the imposter, or is she?
    #pod #poem #mirror #story #thoughts @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Mirror Trick

    I haven't had the courage
    to look into the mirror lately-
    I'm always met with
    some warped and darker
    variant of myself,
    occasionally graced
    with moments of clarity
    where I see the real me-
    and she is worse than any
    emaciated wretch
    I could twist up in my head.
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 1w

    Corona keeping me on land, when will I get to swim again???
    #pod #poem #water #swimming #love #baby @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

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    Homesick Skin

    The first time I went swimming
    I fell in love with the water-
    as a toddler, that moment
    when tiny toes
    broke the surface
    and skin settled in to the strange
    and wonderous new sensations
    of floating along a portal
    between parallel universes;
    I knew the one tinged
    in translucent blue
    was mine-
    and the first time submerged,
    washed over me like a womb,
    I was a mermaid,
    an astronaut, exploring-
    within the waves, I could be
    whoever I wanted,
    I could flip and twist,
    try to imitate the flow
    and find my own.
    On that first day I found
    my soul's rhythm,
    growing it up in blue currents-
    though life has made me forget
    for all these years;
    I feel as though I've been straying
    further and further from home,
    losing more of myself
    the longer I suffer land.
    When will I swim again?
    Circumstances keep us separate-
    oh, does my skin miss
    the safety of my refuge
    below the world!
    My spirit shrivels too long
    out in the air.
    ©in_fragments