Poem of the Week: Out Here

runaways, homeless teens

They can’t make me; I’ve been here before.
I’ll show them all out there.
It can’t be worse than this constant war,
I’m better off out there.
Because I know it won’t be long,
They’ll be sorry, and things will change.
They’ll see the ways that they were wrong,
I’ll come back, and things will change.

That’s what I thought the day I ran,
And what I truly believed.
I remember how it all began,
What I naively believed.
The longer on my own, I guess,
The more I felt the pain.
I grew used to the loneliness,
And came to love my pain.

I slipped away when they come close,
I didn’t want to be found.
Let them imagine I’m decomposed,
Decaying, never to be found.
And soon that wasn’t far from truth,
They’d hardly recognize
The hardened life that stole my youth
Reflected in my eyes.

I drift from street to street out here
My friends, they come and go.
And pass the time, from year to year
With plans that come and go.
Sometimes, I think I’ll find a place,
Safe, out of the wind.
But I learned long ago, there’s no such space,
So I turn into the wind.

For more poetry, visit: Image Curve

Poem of the Week: Internal Medicine

backbone, spine, brain, mind

We were born with brains and spines.
(And the choice to use them as we see fit)
I experimented with various techniques
Weighed the dangers and benefits.

I struggled through years of trial and error
Of internal peace and war,
And gradually gained a truth worth all the pain.
Here’s what I’ve learned thus far:

When I slouched and let my thoughts run amok
Pain came, filled my body and head.
When I sat with care and reasoned with intention,
Growth and wisdom resulted.

Discipline creates character
And makes a brain into a mind.
And strength is built when we make the choice
To have backbone, instead of a spine.

To read more poetry, visit: Image Curve- VK Lynne


Changing defeating mindsets, destructive patterns, and damaging coping mechanisms is not easy. Simply because none of those things developed in a day, thus, they won’t be dug out in a day.

They’ve grown roots, deep ones, and negativity has watered them well. Sadistically, they’ve granted their host an ignominious identity as victim. Their host has become comfortable with them, to the degree that the loss of them causes a type of panic. “What will I do, who will I be, without these pathologies?”

Taking new, constructive approaches to challenges can feel as foreign as learning to write with the non-dominant hand. Frustration ensues, and a desire to ‘just go back to the other way’ rises up. After all, even if that path ends in hell, at least the landlord there is “the devil you know”.

But what of Heaven? What if, in that new way of life, a path opens up to a place the diseased martyr has never been? A place where both illness is excised and the label ‘sinner’ is replaced with health and ‘saint’? If that is the destination, isn’t it worth the journey?

In the end, there is a choice. For the host, it’s often hard to see that the roads diverge, but if you look closely through strained vision and the low fog, a northern gravel trail will come into view. Narrow and steep, it may not seem as appealing as the clear, downhill highway to the south. It may be unsettling to be ignorant of its twists and turns, when the well-worn side streets of the common route are so familiar. But recall the dead ends. The roundabouts that re-set the trip to START.

Intrepid traveler, your maps reveal what wisdom you’ve earned. The sun is up:

Set your course.