I love Autumn and the change it marks in the year. As the leaves fall and the year settles down to begin its slumber, I can't help but enjoy the cold air in my lungs. I am a big proponent of living with the seasons. That includes both the seasons of the year and seasons of life. Each season requires something different from me. As September chills, I long to create comfort for myself. This time of year is magical, and I can't help but snuggle up to a cozy fantasy in the candlelight.
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I wrote the following poem last winter about a good friend of mine who was going through a lot. The two of us got close because we bonded over our similar struggles with mental and physical health. While we don’t see each other much anymore, I still think about them a lot and will continue to love and support them through it all.
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In the quiet,
I return to the rooms of my memory.
To the ragged house that sits behind my home.
Where I do not live,
but frequently roam.
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the shout that can’t be heard
Every once in a while, I shout in conversations.
It doesn’t matter if it’s in person,
a phonecall,
a text.
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My first thoughts about myself
when I looked in a mirror would usually be
about my sideburns or my trunk-like thighs.
But recently, I can't help but notice
the shine in my eyes and the dimple in my left cheek.
And suddenly, the same body that made me sad
makes me stand up a little straighter.
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I took my first breath in the middle of autumn.
In the years that followed I held it there.
Stuck somewhere in my throat.
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I recently had an incident with a friend that I am trying to process, and I realized I couldn’t process it until I acknowledged my identity as a caregiver for someone with a mental illness. Growing up, my parents' mental health wasn’t great. I saw my father through his manic and depressed states.
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I wrote the following poem a year ago when I was insecure about my value and place in my relationships. I often found myself making excuses for people and changing parts of myself in an effort to strengthen my friendships. Over time, it became extremely draining, and eventually, I had to turn to myself and use my own claws to make my life a happier one.
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I wrote this poem to describe an important part of my personal work towards healing from trauma. As someone who has very rarely felt anger prior to this experience, one of the most difficult parts of processing the trauma was allowing myself to feel angry.
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This is a poem I wrote a year ago about feeling needed and validated by my friendships. It’s something that I have struggled with for a very long time.
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I think as college students most of us are able to relate to this sort of mentality where we become so hyper fixated on deadlines, internships, and the future, that we slowly blind ourselves to the moments full of light embedded in our present.
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