Poems

inside a quiet room of a psychologist

they peeled me off like an onion
layers by layers
until my purple skin became white
with fear.
and deep deep red as i rubbed 
the outsides of me 
to feel my heart burn
so that i could materialize 
what i was going through
in the crevices of my mind,
so that my physical being was aware
that wrapped around my neurons were
anxiety and panic: deep deep red. 
and i was allowed to cut 
the onion, 
i was allowed to cry.
i was allowed to hide away,
shrink in the smallest places I could find. 

i told them that
i wanted to become a slow moving clock 
my battery was dying and 
i wasn’t quite ready to replace them yet.
the big mart down the road 
did not sell the same ones I had 
and I would have to adjust 
new ones into my system 
it would take time, i told them,
to tick normally again.
i am not quite sure if they got me.

because,
you see, 
metaphors are easier than
electronic neurophysics.
and i am learning to rewire my brain
i am trying to disconnect and reconnect emotions,
it is not easy. 

it feels like,
stopping a river of emotions 
to build a dam 
and using it 
as a strong hydro-electricity source. 
alone. 
no engineers.
only a Dutch voice. 

i keep trying to grow skin
around the blankets of skeleton 
but i keep forgetting 
the law of growing. 
there isn’t one, is there? 
it feels like,
my mind shrinks a little 
every time my breaths accelerate.
my body tenses like 
dead dry ligaments 
i feel like
a tree in the storm
i shake like one 
until the leaves fall down,
it takes so much strength to hold on
to leaf like hopes
it takes so much strength not to break
branches like faith
when the storm leaves you, 
you feel empty, 
exhausted,
cold. 
and it takes a while to feel green again. 
i want to feel green. again. 

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