Have a Little Faith

These shortcuts don’t
work for me no more
I keep coming back around
to where I was before
The mind fucks me once,
fucks me twice, bends me
backwards, sends me shooting
through the sky
I get a scary high from
the things inside my mind
One foot in front of the other
is about all I can do
without my youth I can no
longer choose when and
where and who
there are no longer
options for sick days,
day-drinking, playing
power with my boobs
As I turned into a woman
–I became more substantial too
It’s more like: do what you have to
do to get you through
show up
listen up
battle else embrace the
thoughts inside your mind
whisper the things out loud–
to yourself and in private
inspect the things for faults
and stripped screws
think: Would you want
somebody to think or say
these things to you?
Talk yourself down
in a poem or in a song
Bring yourself down,
pinned to the ground
and whatever you do
who’s going to PICK YOU UP
just lay there–squeegy wiping
the I’m so angry
I’m so hurt
I’m so lonely
so unloved–
erase all that shit
from your mind
there isn’t any time for it,
we haven’t got the time.
Stand strong in your own self
even if your shaking in your boots
even if your person is on fire and
your head is filled with tears and
you can’t seem to decipher
fact from fiction
real life from “intuition”
I’d say get real quiet, don’t
go crashing through the day to day
be honest, be real, and have
a little faith

11 thoughts on “Have a Little Faith

  1. Hi Terah. I’m still following you, all the way from your kitchen, and boy have I got lots to say, but not tonight. I have said that dozens of times. Tonight I say, “Yeah. Keep the faith sister.” Of course my years of experience has whittled the essence of your so well expressed feelings down to “Calm down David, take it easy, things might work out yet. Look! The sky is blue! The trees sure do look awfully green, and that cloud sure enough is floating in the air. Hmmmm, I think that fly is trying to communicate with me.” I refer back to the unsaid and some postings ago and your comment on writing being the highest art form. Blake,some say did not write poetry, he carved it into wood and etched it into metal. Keep carving girl. Sharp knives carve deep. Later,not much I hope.

    1. More brilliance from David. “Things might work out yet. Look! The sky is blue! The trees sure do look awfully green, and that cloud sure enough is floating in the air.” And so it goes.

      Something I wrote lately: “I quite like the hard times, they remind me of how strong I am. It’s the easy days that really get to me.”

      Thanks for reading & much much love your way.

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