My mess

Oh what a mess, what

A sullen, thick clotted

Mess of a screaming

Descent into argument and

Hurt and silence and

Loss and everything that comes

Of being caught in a space

Where I want others to

Do my work for me,

To help me feel right in

Myself when I can't

Do so for myself,

To blame for all the

Inadequacies and limits I

Impose on myself and do

Not wish to see.

I write of my rage at

The world, my rage at

Myself. This little me who

Holds back the luminous.

I don't know how I will

Move past this place, I

Don't know, I don't

Know. I can only feel

Into this pain, again, try

To sit with its white hot

Tendrils that loop around

My body to render me

Incapable, insensible

Impossible.

I caused pain to another

Today, to my beloved,

And I caused pain to

My self, that self who

Could be so much greater

Who I sense in my

Finer moments.

For this I take responsibility

Not just for pain caused

But for beliefs that undergird

And excuses that wrap around.

What a mess, what a

Shitstorm of a mess.