If it is any consolation
I am in pain.
I solve my own lingering question
by feeling my soul as a literal thing
stirring in my belly like some great snake;
a thing with barbs to tangle in at any opportunity.
I am weary with the force of breathing,
on days when I find no repast from a long line of self berating internal criticisms.
I am not who my mind says I am.
I fight against the snake,
the walls of a self made prison
and the darkness within.
I am bigger than this cloud of dirty words.
Slowly I rise from it,
days and weeks at a time it takes me but I rise.
Phoenix as I ever am,
I breathe deeply and cry out