It’s quite the poem, Resurrection. It is a oem about the process through one of the most difficult times in the life of M.J. She put her heart into this poem, that we are more than happy to share with you.
About the poet
M.J. writes poetry because she is very passionate about people sharing their stories. This can be in many forms, she explained to us.
While I have always used writing as an emotional outlet, poetry in particular has become a way for me to process my feelings. I have a history of battling with anxiety and an eating disorder, both of which heavily influence the feelings behind many of the pieces I write.
As human beings we all have different life stories, have experienced different things, both good and bad. However, our emotions are the same. I try to use the emotions I have experienced to write poetry that not only tells bits and pieces of my story, but tell someone else’s story as well. I am working on my first collection of poetry, hopefully to be published at some point, all centered on recovery from mental illness and/or addiction.
About the poem
The poem M.J. wrote was about one of the most difficult decisions she’s ever had to make. This was the day she realised she needed help.
While some of the details in the poem are not necessarily accurate to actual events, the emotion of the experience is 100% my own. The piece is called “Resurrection” and it really, in a way, also describes why it is I write.
Because this is a poem she posted in different parts on her social media accounts, we have decided to include all the parts in text and image.
Silently I lay and pray that the flashes of memories I am seeing on repeat behind my eyelids are only lucid dreams,
Nightmares that, while shockingly vivid, end with morning sunrise.
I open my eyes. I dare not move,
Perhaps I can stay frozen in this moment of time.
I can simply cease to exist instead of living another day like the last,
Carrying the guilt and shame from all my yesterdays.
If only the burning sensation and searing pain that is currently running through my veins would spark into a flame great enough to consume everything.
Slowly I sit and watch the world spin,
The damage I’ve done, shouts for my attention.
The empty bottles I know are hidden, pill bottles spilling their remaining contents onto the bedside table, all the tasks of yesterday left undone.
And the silence. The pure, crisp, clean silence cuts straight through it all…he’s finally won. He was right all along. I will never amount to anything at all,
Always I am no one.
I let the hot water rush over me, I breathe the steam in deep,
Lowering myself to the shower floor, I wrap my arms tightly around my knees, Attempting to control the shaking.
My mind goes blank. I feel nothing.
There is nothing to feel,
I am nothing.
Is this real?
My wildly beating heart seems to suggest it is, but I am still not sure.
I’ve died a thousand times before…what’s one time more?
The pain reminds me of what I did,
And it takes every ounce of strength I have left not to reach out and smash the mirrored image that is claiming to be me.
That woman is no one I recognize.
She is weak, obviously beaten and broken, pathetic, and almost dead looking. Spiritless, wide eyes stare back at me, set in an ashen white face, tinged with green.
Facial bones prominent under sunken cheeks.
What has become of me?
Is this all that’s left, all I will ever be?
Will death not even accept such company?
Then, a whisper, a stream of light. I turn my face.
Soft, gentle words wash over me.
It sounds so strange, but, I close my eyes to see.
This is not the end for me.
My soul is to be resurrected and joined with new life, a life not my own.
I drop to my knees, noticing only this pulsing melody that sweetly sings to me, calling me lovely.
I recognize the touch, the embrace, the hope and ever present strength that has always enabled me to stand up and walk forward,
To fight for one more day.
I will live to tell my story of this loving light that reached out,
And saved me from the grip of night.