on insecurity

Insecurity is a sickness.

Sometimes it flares up like an infection and claims my whole self; I feel septic to the core. And my core is molten like the Earth's and sometimes I wonder if she doubts herself too. Does she ever feel like she may be spinning in vain? She has been disrespected and exploited for years, it has to have an effect on her self esteem. It seems that people have stopped listening, so she stopped talking. Bottled insecurity can bring rage. I hope my wrath won't get as bad as, you know, destroying all of humanity with hurricanes and starvation.

My feet hover above her skin like a shadow, cut off at the ankle. My body is in the sky, somewhere. My head is in the rainclouds. I want nothing more than to be with my mother on the ground. The rain falls.

tears from compassionate clouds.

She looks up at me and makes an earth quake that says "I know how you feel, this is me getting frustrated. What are you going to do?"

I don't know. Maybe blog about it.

I must make earthquakes with my words or I'll perish with no consequence. I must string them together into a chainlink fence across my heart to keep monsters out and self love in.

I silence myself daily. I tear my chest open, show you the mess and ask you "what do you think of this?". I wonder if my scars shed light on your experience.

When does pain turn into power?

One day I will open my mouth, let all the fire out, and watch triumphantly as everything burns.