Real Feelings; Poetry Stuffed

i started paying attention to the words that come by
repititions, the refrains, the recurrances and
remembering to count them when they came through the page.

“hyopcrite/hypocritical”
“happiness is essential to a life worth living”
“15”

…check, check, check as it occurred to me how
a poet must break herself against her tender heart and fling herself above of the atmosphere
with prayers of dependency and trust in the Creator and her fellow creatures.

i shed skins and bodies of a self that spoke of wisdom and poetry
when in full darkness; i dismissed
the inner princess and her pleases.
The inner child was feral when she howled from needs
too much for those around her.
The social child became disassociated with vulnerable parts
like her vagina, her dreams and her goodness.
The suspended ego did not notice life passing by
until the 41st year of mortal life.

This “i” became sad and angry and lost
in what felt like a horrible mistake
but reoccurring the same none the less.

i wanted to hold on and connect to
something/ someone in this world
to stagger the daily revolutions
until i fell on the idea that

i have failed my life and
otherwise have missed the Point.

what is left of my spirit will grow
through exposures and reflections of divinity
and it kills me to tell you how much i need you, fellow, for a fuller life.

it kills me to admit that i am dependent on
miracles,
sensitivity,
compassion,
humor,
and love in ginormous quantities.

I have all of these inside, too
I just want to share them with you
this is urgent news of spoilage and riches.