Of Cuts and stitches (part 2)

I haven't screamed enough
I haven't screamed at all.
Somewhere in my voice-box, my sounds got muffled.

I didn't scream at all
when my walls were trespassed.
The sounds lay muffled in pools of despair.

The cuts are still raw
They bleed daily.
There's little I can do with cuts that like being fresh.

I could try to scream now, to make up for that silence.
I could kick and scream it all into a distant memory.

The idea is appealing
The reality, not so forgiving.
I could scream until the pain subsided,

but these stitches would still unravel.

Of cuts and stitches

It would seem that my thoughts have thoughts of their own and when that concentric ripple occurs, I lose myself...somehow. I used to be one who expressed frustration by biting my fingers until I almost crushed the bone; used to slam doors until I could feel the vibrations in the frame; used to break things and smash them against the wall or through windows; had an argument with an ex that left both our t-shirts bleached cos I kept whacking him with a Domestos bottle. When I was upset, I went out of control. I was that girl. One with a bad temper that felt non-rehabilatable until I one day just decided that this behaviour was not cool. It was after a fight with a different ex (these poor guys...*sigh*). I won't go into the details cos well...they're not really important, but I was left with a chair in my hands (one that I don't know where nor how I got the strength to pick up and hold over my shoulder) that I was ready to fling out of the window from a hectic argument. What happened between that moment and him holding me, I can't really remember, but when my puffy eyes had subsided I found that the window was still intact. That was the last crazy thing I ever did...well...last one that constituted physical breakage/damage.

These days, I go about my days by dismissing annoyance with shrugs. Last night however, that whole daffodil-dancing-in-the-wind-AKA-"Zen"-mentality was put to the test. Ever had those spine-chilling-thoughts where you want to jump into a propeller...or jump over a bridge and onto a freeway? No? Well, I had those very images having a field-day in my head. The best thing I could do was cry...because I've forgotten how to get angry and allow the release of that anger to fulfill its cathartic purpose.

Some cuts are just too deep for tears and time to heal. Some cuts need things that'll accomapny the therapeutic bandages that are meant to heal them. Some cuts need to be left alone to bleed until there is nothing more to give, so that they can heal. My cuts, I have no solutions for...I just know that I have to break something...or smash something...and wait for the angst to seep out of those cuts before I stitch it all up again.