Riot In My Brain

I have seen God in places holy people shouldn’t frequent. I have felt my soul crease into itself and believed the creases were death encroaching on me. I have numbed myself to fear, it has felt like a thing walking on my skin; in a dream, on a body that is not really mine but a reflection. I have found distance and in the distance I have faked salvation, sanity.

I have ran. I am thinking that maybe, just maybe, it is time to stop running.

I have a crusade of emotions within me. They scream and shout and when the sound mixer malfunctions, I think there are about to roll on the ground and be a mad woman possessed with a demon of sorts. But they just echo across the ridges of my being. My nails that are too weak to grow on their own do not pull on the hair strands coconut oil has slaved over. The pot does not spill over; doesn’t mean it’s empty.

I have thoughts and worries. Self doubt plagues me. I am told it is bad for my hips, I love my hips, you’d think that would cold turkey fix the fears. But I am in the habit of not listening to myself.

There is a riot in my brain. I think I might be rewriting Hamlet. Happiness is that one question for me.

I am not angry, I am thirsty.

I can feel the spaces between my clothes and my skin turn into a steamer. My essence is turning into sweat, I want to watch it go. Let it be. See if really was mine. I can feel it fight the escape.

‘Run free babe, run free.’

And if the only way to be free is to run…

Image courtesy of @thebongolese (IG | Twitter)