Transitions of Person

She and I are one in the same.

We are two sides of the same coin,
and yet we are the same face.

Without her I wouldn't be here,
and without me she wouldn't be allowed a second chance.

We exist to few,
and many.

The few that remember her
can't stand the thought of me.
The many who know me,
are terrified of the concept of her.

She is the blue in my artwork
and I am the black in the shadows.
She is the hands pressing into my shoulder blades,
and I am the chains keeping myself grounded.

I feel her sorrow, her pain,
all of it hides under the cover of my own.

There's a loneliness to her existence,
and there's trepidation in her actions.
There's a fear that he will never forgive her,
no matter what she does
he can't forgive her first sins.

Then it becomes my job to right her mistakes,
but how can I do that?
How can I go back and fix what was broken?

I'm only human.

She and I are one in the same.
We share the same name,
the same face,
almost near identical personas...

But I am not her.
She may be a form of me, but I am not her.

I am in a rotation,
moving away from my fears about not being good enough,
not being enough
to be close to her.

I thought she was perfect, flawless,
and that's why he sought me out
because I was her.

But I realized, she is far from it.
She was never perfect, or flawless,
and while he came looking for her he found me.

I don't want to be her,
I am not her.
And for the first time, I'm okay with that.

Ocean Flying

Being on a boat is similar to flying.

We crashed into the water,
slamming against each and every wave
each jump strong enough to send us skimming into the air.

Holding onto the bars of the boat for dear life,
I felt as if the tiniest slip of my fingers
would send me flying into the ocean below.

But in a way I wanted to experience that.
I wanted to know what it would be like,
to be yanked backwards in a brief moment
of weightlessness,
let go by gravity
and suspended by the air.

Being on a boat is similar to flying.

It is different than being in a plane,
because a plane is a metal bird
keeping one confined.
Being on a boat is being free,
you are standing out in the open
ready for the wind to lock its arms around you
and hold you up
and pull you out.

You are open to sun and the sky.

In that moment I felt as though I was truly flying,
soaring.
I felt as though I was free.

VII

A week of letters end with one of the people
who started it all.

He isn't the most understanding at times,
sometimes he's hard to live with,
hard to understand.

But he was always there.
Even if he stood wordless,
he was there.

Never perfect, usually far from it,
but I couldn't be prouder
and more grateful than I can
to have someone at least willing to try.

I know I must frustrate you,
I know it must be exceedingly hard.
But you try and I appreciate that
because to me someone who tries means more
than all the jewels in the world.

You aren't perfect,
but you're awe-inspiring.

I know its frustrating,
dealing with someone who has as many problems as I do.
And trying to understand the crazy,
that magnates my way
but I'm relieved there is always someone
waiting to at least listen
and offer a hand.

The final piece to my precious family,
a man who is imperfect,
has made millions of mistakes,
but still manages to brighten my darkest days.

Thank you,
to all seven days, all seven letters,
all seven people
that I wish I can give the whole world to.

-Lysa

VI

This spot belongs to you,
and to you alone.

A letter written to my oldest friend,
the one who was there before all else.
I never truly realized I was never alone,
Until now.

This is my formal apology.

Written the only way I know how,
Addressed to someone who
I'm not sure will even read it.

You were always there,
Watching and guiding
and I took it all for granted.

I mistreated you,
thanks to the misguidings
of those around me.
You never once had a selfish bone
In your body.

But I wish you did.
A silent friend who suffered,
Just to see me happy.
For once I wish you would think
Of yourself.

You are weighed down by an
unimaginably painful melancholy,
And I take the blame for it.

This is my letter to you;
A plead that for once
You will do what makes you happy.

I apologize fot the pain I caused,
And the animosity I slung your way
In the past.

A letter to my oldest friend,
Sent out on raven wings
guided by the hope that you learn
to forgive yourself
before me.

So here is a token of love,
A charm of Sodalite to drop in the ocean
and start a ripple of change.

-Lysa

V

She is like mother nature.

As cold as ice,
as scorching as fire,
as chaotic as the sea,
and as soothing as the earth.

I had known her briefly,
but among it these last harsh years
she was a new rock I could lean on.

For a while it wasn't always this way.
There was a blind animosity I held,
but over time I learned her presence
wasn't a curse but a gift.

I'm sure at times I more
then she expected to handle,
but above it all she became a confidant and a friend
rather than a replacement.

There's not enough gratitude I can extend out,
or many words I can say to express it.
At first I thought of her as a thief,
sneaking its way into my life;
but now she is a crucial piece to me,
becoming as irreplaceable as the sun
and as constant as the moon.

-Lysa

IV

My precious family.

A collection of personalities,
smiles, and obscene language.
You all are a pillar to lean against
and a shoulder to cry on.

Those who have stood beside me
when I was at my worst,
best,
and at my most unreasonable.

To all of you there aren't enough words in our language
to express my extreme gratitude that you all exist.
That you all have persisted through the flames,
the bouts of depression,
and the melancholy that plagues you all.
You are my precious family,
the beloved people who helped me
become the person I am.

I would not be here if not for you.
There's no way to step around it,
to dazzle you all with fancy prose
I would rather be blunt and speak from the heart.

If I was to be eloquent and work with metaphor
then the words I truly wish to say would be lost.

-Lysa

III

He is the salt of the earth.
A weed growing in the garden of Eden,
or so they said.

You were uprooted from warm soil
and tossed into a cul-de-sac of discrimination
and hate.

You were not a weed but a rose,
just trying to bloom in the sunlight
instead you were trampled and plucked
like a dandelion.

I feel nothing in my heart but pity...
I pity what the world has done to you
leaving you jaded and reliant on other weeds hated by the world.

But you have always been there for me;
a close friend and confidant,
someone willing to reach into the dark
and comfort those
despite being equally as pained yourself.

You are resilience,
a pure ivory tower that is loved
chips, scratches, breaks
and all.

A melody known only to those,
who are willing enough to listen.

-Lysa

II

More than anger more than rage, 

a gladioulus with the shape and strength 

of a lion. 

Your actions speak louder 

that the words you struggled to make. 

Embracing those around you

rather than speak, 

for to you a hug means more than a monologue. 

Lost to the feelings unknown to you,

yet still reaching out to lend aid 

to those more lost. 

An energy of red and blue coursing through your veins; 

calm yet passionate, 

collected yet manic. 

A hurricane of grace and beauty swallowing 

all those around and keeping them tangled up 

in strands of a vicious yet vibrant wind. 

A cherished friend, an ally, and a confidant 

until the end. 

-Lysa

I

I'm attempting to capture you by removing myself.

However there is truly no way to speak about you
without talking about him,
and that which pressed into the cracks
that cascaded across your face.

You had to grow up early
and become the mother of nature to all around,
but never truly getting to enjoy the wind
and the sky.

Freedom was marriage.
That was your only escape,
because in your mind two rings of gold
felt less like shackles,
compared to the prison of home.

You wanted to fly.
You wanted to travel,
to see the world on wings of metal and plastic.

But everyone clipped your wings
and they rubbed you into the dirt,
because your father thought it was too dangerous
and your husband was finishing his degree.

You flew to Florida where the wind is hot,
your son is dumb,
and your womb was barren.

Misery and melancholy clipped your wings,
as you bore a daughter while your husband
slept in other beds.

All you wanted to was fly,
but you soar closer and closer to the ground.

Life has been cruel and you'd rather be mad then sad,
'cause all you wanted to do was fly.

-Lysa

New project announcement!!!!

As of today I'd like to announce a new project that will be unfolding here on the blog.
Starting tomorrow (Sunday October 7th, 2018) I will be unveiling seven "letters" I have written. Recently the idea of feelings conveyed through words have been rattling in my brain. Sometimes the human language ignores what it is we truly feel and what we truly mean to say. It is because of this idea that I wish to unveil my feelings the only way I know how: through poetry and words.
All of these will be entitled to different people in my life who have inspired the person I am today. I've been working on this project for some time and I feel as though this is the only why I can express my gratitude to who they are and what they have done for me.

Each letter will not be addressed, these words in a way aren't intended for the world but merely for them. Some of these will never been seen by the eyes they are meant for, but that doesn't mean that the feelings that belong to them deserve to be forgotten. Seven letters, each for someone important to me in one way or another, scattered across seven days.

I hope you continue to stay with me on this journey and that my feelings may not only reach those who these are intended for, but may inspire you all to express your own feelings whatever way it is right for you.

-Lysa of The Writers Den

1:25 am

Steady thrum thrum thrum of my 2nd heartbeat,
Laying on my stomach,
so that my crumpled up paper bird wings
can stretch out and up towards the heavens.

There's a universe in my hands
and a second set of brains rattling around in my skull.
I think about all the things that could have been;
if I had chosen you over the world,
if I had chosen her over myself.

Would it have turned out differently?

Would my wings still be broken, clipped, and destroyed?
Would I still be trapped in a cage
of meat,
bones,
and a brittle human heartbeat?

Would my world be any differently?
Would my desires still be earthly?

Or would they,
reach new heights?

Could it be possible that my desires will reach
that which only the Seraphs could scrape with their fingertips?
The end of each day
I am still made of paper and glass:
a human creature made of fragile porcelain,
held together by strings
and wings that are too heavy to lift me
even an inch off the ground.