A Sense of Belonging

 

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A Sense of Belonging‘ by Sonja P.

 

Every year, same place, same time, same feeling.

Every year there is a sense of anxiety unlike any other,

A need to perform perfectly,

A need to prove oneself.

 

As I perform my piece, it is never quite as I had hoped,

But always good enough.

For every year there is a sense of anxiety unlike any other,

A need to perform perfectly,

A need to prove oneself.

 

For as I leave the stage, and return to my seat,

The anxiety is not gone.

But lurks, and dances under the internal moonlit waves.

A need to be on,

A need to be spectacular.

 

But as I stand aside, and watch my peers taking a picture without me in my final year,

It is my utter realization that the anxiety was not performance based.

No.

It was the sense of never belonging.

Real

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‘Real’ by Sonja P.

 

What makes someone real? Is it their tangibility? Or their presence that can be felt across a crashing sea? Is it their voice, their eyes, their smile? Or is it their tangibility? Their presence, that can be felt across a crashing sea?

What makes someone real?

 

For I know that I am Real. I see myself, I know I exist, I laugh and breath like anyone else, but there is so much more than tangibility; the physical extremities, that make a person real.

What makes someone real?

 

Reality is not when you can see a person, but it is when you can stare into a person’s eyes and you can see, them. Not their clothes, their hair, their, looks. But you can see their souls. Their raw selves that they constantly shelter from the icy world.

What makes you real?

 

For you are not a fake, a fraud, nor just a passenger in today’s life. You are as real as the air we breathe, and as pure as the crystal waters that come from the freshest springs.

Do not hide your reality,

For reality, is you.

 

Clouded Skies

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“Clouded Skies” by: Sonja P.

 

Even on the brightest days, there can be no sun.

Clouded by wisps of unspoken tales, and unforgotten memories,

It is hard to decipher why the clouds hang so low in the sky when you can still see light.

All appears well, fine, for even the onlookers view your world as an ecosystem of an abundance of sunshine, on a cloudy day.

 

These clouds, appear as only a shift in the mood, and as the winds blow through any given world, change must follow.

But for you, the clouds do not leave, for they have taken permanent residence,

And you are left to soak in the sun, through clouded skies.

 

There is still light, for you can see the truths, that stretch beyond the skies, and tickle the sun,

But there is also darkness, that shadows my given world, at any speaking moment.

 

But it is bright out, and to others the shadows of low wisped cotton appear as a much-needed relief from the blazing sun.

But you yearn for the sun.

 

You yearn for the clouds to be lifted.

For though there is light, this is not an acclamation that darkness is not present.

 

Double Standard

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“Double Standard” By: Sonja P.

 

Why use words when your words mean nothing?

I hear what you said, I read what you said, I spoke what I said,

And yet your words mean nothing.

 

You blossom in a society,

A society where words speak of lies and false comforts,

And where truth is no longer spoken.

 

Lucky that’s where we live.

Lucky that we live in a world where discrimination is hidden behind hate,

Fortunate that you are comfortable.

 

Double Standard

When your words mean nothing and you speak nothing of lies,

Thus there is only truth in lies and only lies in truth.

The Right and the Wrong

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by: Sonja P.

In a time of turmoil and distress, there is a fight.

A fight between beast and man, dragon and knight,

A fight between right and wrong, and good and evil.

Or so it seems to be.

 

Both fight, knowing that one must die for the other to live.

In a fight to the death, both opponents challenge the other using unique skills themselves, and only themselves have mastered.

Both bringing their own weaponry to the battle, a battle of fire and steel, flesh and claw, the maiden watches from afar.

 

She is not in need of rescue for she is neither trapped by beast nor man.

She is niether trapped by walls of stone, a flood or water, nor the physical constraints of the mortal world.

The only chains that bind her are the chains of the mind: expectation, limiting beliefs, and self doubt.

 

As she watches from a distance she ponders the moral of right and wrong,

The difference between right and wrong, good and evil.

She knows there is a fight to the death before her eyes, yet she has difficulty seeing the hero.

Both brave and valient in their efforts, both fighting to be ‘saviour,’

Still as she looks at both opponents,

Both beast and man,

Both dark and light shines through them.

There is both dark and light shining through of them.

For to her utter reliazation, both belived right in their own eyes,

And yet, both were wrong in one anothers.

A Single Blade of Grass, You are Important

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In a beautiful meadow, I am a single blade of grass.

A single blade of grass,

I am one in many.

Millions of us make up a meadow,

and it would seem the absence of only me would make no difference.

But, you see, grass is an interwoven species.

A single blade of grass grows in connection with many others.

It would seem the absence of only me would make no difference.

But with the absence of one, others will cease,

Until a Beautiful Meadow becomes a grassland with sickly patches.

 

Like a single blade of grass, it is important to remember that only one person, one human, one you, is important.

Where you may seemingly have no connections and you may want to quit.

Remember that, we too are an interwoven species, and that you utter existence is important in your growth. In others growth. In human-kinds growth.

You are Important.

Remember that.

My Mind; Fear

“My Mind; Fear” By Sonja P. (a.k.a. Copper D.W.)

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I’m sacred.

I swear I am terrified.

You know what I mean right?

I just can’t control myself sometimes.

I’m terrified that I’m going to wake up one morning that I won’t be able to control anything!

Nothing!

I won’t be able to control my emotion, my words, my thoughts and my intuitiveness.

 

I’m afraid.

I’m afraid that one day I will wake up and finally decide to be myself.

Finally to expose my bare skin and bones to the world, to my loved ones and I’ll be seen as a joke.

They’d just look at me if I’m insane.

They’d bring me to another 12 years of therapy and I could go on and on about this is what I always wanted ever since I was a kid and they’d just look at me.

“I live in my head too much.”

They’ll say “An overactive imagination.”

Then I’ll go on and on about always hearing voices before I go to bed, of seeing shadows and auras around people, of knowing things with no understanding why, of seeing images flash before my eyes when I’m looking for something, of really every weird and freaky experience that I’ve had ever and I have come to accept this as a gift, not an illness.

“You’re only 17,” they’ll tell me “you don’t know what you want. You don’t know enough about anything yet.”

And then I’ll feel alone.

Really alone.

I already feel alone when I pretend that I’m normal when I am most definitely not.

If I already feel alone when they don’t know, just imagine what I would feel like when I show them the real me.

I’ve been on those psychic websites, found some really nice people, asked for readings for help in whatever way they could, but because I was a minor and it was against the law their hands were tied.

I’ve spent all my life wondering what the hell was wrong with me?

Been on meds ever since I was 4 and still am on them.

I’m insane I’d tell myself.

No one believes me and even if they do, they’d either prescribe more medication, send me to a new therapist or they have nothing to say to try to help me.

Where’s my psychic guru who has all the answers for me?

You always see those tv psychics saying that they had a mentor at a young age.

I have always been able to help others but no one has really been able to help me.

Sometimes I feel like I’m made to understand and not to be understood.

But when I tell them.

If I ever tell them.

If it ever slips.

Something I should have only thought becomes spoken, what will I do?

I’m afraid.

I am afraid of the unknown.

The unknown of my own reality.