anxiety

Do you know how it feels to become a victim of your on mind, locked in the cell walls held prisoner, shackled with your own thoughts and dreams. Trying to escape running through the lanes of your veins but never reach the finish line lost caught in a maze of confusion, nearly going insane trying to locate the book of your thoughts so you could rip out the pages you know longer want to remember, the voice always demand you to stay. The under layer of your skin feels like its on fire but your skin shivers uncontrollably as your heart beats drums of frustrated lyrics. Mentally controlled haunted by what ifs, hopes, and cluttered thoughts. which way do you run? you run and you run fast but always seem to end up in this very spot, “deja vu”. Short breaths and each one feels like your last. Wanting to just scream at the top of your lungs to release the despair and confusion maybe then you’d have room in your mind to renovate a state of peace. . . .

Anxiety sucks.

Advertisements

heart

 

And here I stand with the wounds of every test and trial that the enemy tried to use to kill me. Here I stand on the feet that I once used to run away from the very thing that tried to save me. I stand here in front  of thee, with my hair tied back, bare face head held high because for the first time I can truthfully say I love the woman I became to be.

I stand

I stand

And you know, I think I kinda like it up here. See I was down for so long I began to make it my home, and letting my fears move in I became afraid to be alone. But here I now stand, Just me – myself – and I. Building myself up day by day I no longer feel deprived of the toxins and highs I once used to paint this picture of who I thought I was inside. See many people have been dying to no her.  And here she is souchile . .  And she is . . a true . .

Survivor

b54a758c8baa3d04c7c713e0cb56230e

Raped and abused, used, and accused. We’ve all been there before one way or another where we let our minds seduce our souls into thinking we are less than gold, our hearts told us one thing but our minds had us sold. So now looking in the mirror we no longer no who we are. Disguised by the bruises and scars you’ve lost your identity. Going back to the past using it now as a remedy. You . . Are . . . Wounded. And today is the day you rip off that mask and take a step of faith. Stich up the scars and recognize the face of a fighter. And now when you look in the mirror it reflects a true survivor.

imagesOQNQEQNQ

I’ve been told that I am a wounded healer, I heal the scars of, broken spirits and broke hearts, but no one is strong enough to be present when I fall apart. Why am I reflected as a tool? They use me to build the layers of there heart and once learning how to love themselves returning me back to the tool box of abandonment. And in the end my feelings are subsided, and they expect me to do nothing but understand them. So then I suppress because I now feel I am built for this. But yet I ask why is it that I am picked for this position . . .

tumblr_nvsa84i0xJ1rz80d6o1_500

I use to take a lot of pictures with my back turned, I thought id get more attention that way since people loved to stab me while I was positioned like this. I use to stand with my back turned because that is the only time I could hear the whispers of how people really felt. I use to stand like this because within time I didn’t know how to love myself so I hid my face so the hurt that revealed would be concealed with the arch of my back distracted by my tattoos . I stayed standing just like this with my back faced to the world why because as a little girl misunderstood id glance up reaching for a hand but first reactions were a foot step forward back leg to follow and within time my heart became hollow. So I did what people taught me best, and that was to stand tall with my back turned. 

© WRITEINSIDEMEBLOG.COM

 

tumblr_nrt8engkWj1tsgjavo1_500

Promiscuity’s, Insecurities, Glancing at oneself in the mirror and not even noticing your own identity . . Blood shed from your eyes, your wounded cries have been open scars you’d paid no attention to, oblivious to the fact you’d not have to look far to be identified as a bruise. But see you’ve been used and thrown away and recycled to be used another day, you’ve dragged your pain through insanity. You begin to paint on this identity of who you’ve been convinced you became, but fail to cover up all the painful remains, there is no concealer for a lost soul . . .

© WRITEINSIDEMEBLOG.COM

11143000_380176125502740_2098513971_n

Placed on this earth to conquer all of the negative spirits whom try to destroy my kings & queens. Fish to be the reflection of a true testimony eliminating those whom deal with Stress, Inquiries, Abandonment,and Fear. I am here to portray a perfectly imperfect being whose hungry to collect lost souls and together as one live abundantly. iamsoulchild.        

 © WRITEINSIDEMEBLOG.COM

 

12277397_920255761391491_336036166_n

You are so beautiful,  And when I say That I’m speaking to your soul.  You . . Are . . So, beautiful. My eyes can’t help but to stare Into the inner you because the attraction that is portrayed connects to the loose veins that were once destroyed connected to my heart, but you . . . you give me hope that it can be repaired. So here I stand, starring into your soul, painting a canvas of how beautiful It would look intertwined with mine . .

 © WRITEINSIDEMEBLOG.COM

 

tumblr_nbmyz2bWsI1sokukdo1_500

Plant the seed of your heart within the soils of my skull. Clinch the vessels of my thoughts, Never let go, get lost falling deeper in love with every word. Expand your roots attaching to every nerve so with each breath I take and move I make I carry a piece of you, forever you will live within me. And with time as your pedals flourish you create my divine reflection.

© WRITEINSIDEMEBLOG.COM