Poem #2

Hey guys, I shared a poem here a few days ago and the feedback I got was amazingly inspiring to me and has been so helpful in getting through this past week. I just finished another much longer piece, and figured I’d share an excerpt of the ending for y’all since it seemed my last one helped some of you. ☺️ thank you for reading! -Whimsy

11/1/24- excerpt from A Work In Progress

I had to fully break, before I was allowed to bloom, in order to recognize my own potential. 

I had to feel my fingers snapping under the weight

Of trying to hold together an image of someone 

I had never met

In order to realize,

Just how heavy that burden was.

I had to wait for my wounds to heal.

And then, I rebuilt.

When I was ready, I decided to become so eccentric,

So outlandish,

So unapologetically odd,

That if anyone felt the desire to get close to me,

To look at this half-bald-headed, blue haired girl who dons the uniform of Johnny Cash every day,

And think to themselves 

“She’s my type of out there”,

That I would finally know

I was worth it.

As myself, and nothing more.

I found those people in an art room in my senior high, 

Surrounded by giggles and clay and probably more mental illness and trauma than I even knew.

But we supported each other.

Through art, through stories, through laughter.

These people knew me,

Really knew me,

And loved me for every quirk and abnormality.

I wasted years of my life trying to cram a glass slipper onto a foot designed for poorly painted skater shoes.

I wasted connections with people that mattered, for people that saw me as nothing more

Than a project to complete in order to make themselves seem more impressive. 

More charitable.

If I am a project,

I am a work in progress that only I can decide how to complete.

That gratification, that sense of accomplishment is mine alone.

I don’t need to be extravagant in my appearance anymore.

I still express myself, but I no longer feel I have to emulate an animal using their brightly colored exterior to scare away potential danger.

I learned how to find not only acceptance,

But comfort in my ability to be the most off-putting yet kindest person in a room.

My story isn’t over yet,

And now I know who I want to write it with.

And beyond that,

I’m finally excited to keep turning the pages of each passing day,

just to see what happens next.

I don’t have to escape into fiction anymore, because what I’m working on right now is going to be worth every second. 

You can’t have a happy ending without a little tragedy.