An Honest Poem

I was born on a chilly October night, 26 years ago.
I’m 5’6, with brown eyes, and black hair and my weight is none of your business.
I’m not a dog person, and I’m allergic to cats.
I’m kind of like a baby jumping spider, cute but creepy.
I’m a good writer, listener, and I can carry somewhat of a tune.
But the thing I’m most talented at is avoiding my problems.
I’m an absolute pro at it.
If there’s a problem, I run in the complete opposite direction.
I run to my books and hide from the world.

In books, things happen for a reason.
The plot is set, the character’s path predestined.
Real life isn’t like that.
I could have never predicted the path that my life has taken.
I barely recognize myself these days.
I’ve abandoned everything that used to define me.
So if I’m no longer the student,
the youth leader,
or the devoted churchgoer.
Then who am I?
That is the million dollar question.
Sometimes I feel like I’m 10 different people from one day to the next.
Which one is the real me?
Or are they all me?

I’m prone to melancholy.
Have been for as long as I can remember.
I’ve daydreamed about wandering into a field during a thunderstorm and being dissipated by a lightning bolt.
Like the end of the movie “Powder”.
My therapist calls this a suicidal fantasy.
I call it what happens when I’m alone too long in my thoughts.

I feel broken.
But I’m a Christian and we’re not supposed to say that.
Isn’t that why God sent his son?
So that I can be whole?
Well me and God aren’t really speaking as much as we used to.
I try not to dwell too long on the state of my faith.
If I do, a pain so deep radiates through me that I can barely breath.
I’ll just sum it up in one word, unraveled.

I attempting to date.
Me, the perpetually single girl.
I was always waiting to be better, more prepared, more successful, more perfect.
I always wondered if anyone could ever truly understand and love me, with all of my chaos.
So far it’s been a huge bust.
I was catfished, but isn’t that a millennial rite of passage?

My name is Tawni.
I love indie rock, Mexican food, and spending time with friends.
Even though I don’t know if I really have anything in common with any of them.
My hobbies include:
fighting my inner demons,
pretending that I’m fine,
and overthinking everything.
Nice to meet you.


A week ago I stumbled across Rudy Francisco’s spoken word piece “My Honest Poem” on Facebook and it moved me. You can watch it here and read it here. I thought to myself, I should do one too! It was definitely harder than I thought it was going to be but at the same time oddly cleansing.

 

Photo by Anders Jildén on Unsplash

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Poetry 101: Farewell

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I knew this day was coming, the day I’d have to say goodbye. How will I be able to? You are mine. You were my yes in a sea of no’s, my familiar in a room of strangers, my friend in isolation.
Like a rainbow after a rainstorm, you gave me new hope. Hope that me, just as I was could be enough. It wasn’t the way I looked or what I could do. It was just me that you wanted there, real and unfiltered.

But now I must say goodbye. The love I have for you will never die but it must fade. I have to make room for the one who can be forever. I wanted it to be you, I pleaded for it to be you. But my heart has shot past you. I couldn’t be to you what you were for me, and maybe I wasn’t meant to.
And so I release you. You my nearly beloved, my almost paramour, my all but lover.

*image: Michael Phelan

Poetry 101: Seconds

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I don’t know how many times we passed each other, seeing each other but not really seeing each other. Or how many times we exchanged generic greetings. A meaningless “How are you?” or “Take Care.”  Then one day for some reason you smiled at me, a true genuine smile. And in that second I saw you, really saw you, as if I was seeing you for the first time.

Life hasn’t been the same since.

Poetry 101 Day 3: Sleep

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I spend my waking hours asleep, dreaming of something better. Something better than the stasis in which I live.

A place where I don’t fantasize about clawing at my own skin just to see a bit red blood in my colorless existence.

Where I don’t want to scream till I lose my voice just to hear a sound in this silent void.

From sun up till sun down I live in this abyss where nobody hears or sees me.

I’m only alive when I’m asleep.

 

I Want To Know

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I want to know what makes you tick

What makes you angry, what makes you sad

I want to know what gives you joy

What do you live for and who would you die for

I want to know the things that no one knows

What keeps you up at night

I want to know those secret dreams

What drives you

I want to know who was the first person you ever loved

And who was the first person to break your heart

I want to peel away at the layers of you

I want to know, are we kindred souls?

 

100 Word Story

It was just a meal between friends, or that’s what I convinced myself it was. The butterflies in my stomach told the real story. I was going to see you, my if only”, my “I wish”.

We sat down to the table across from each other, we talked, we laughed, just like friends do. But while you smiled I was bleeding inside. Every look you gave me was like a shot to the heart, and it cried why.

Why is this so easy, but yet so hard?

Why do I torture myself this way?

Why am I such a fool?