Surgery

This poem I wrote a few weeks ago, as a way of relief - I've suffered from depression before and luckily I have poetry as a way of dealing with it. Luckily I've been fine recently :) but sometimes the memories of my "black" year come crawling back (as my doctor used to call it). This peice of poetry is about finding the answers, curiousity, and self-loathing which I'm sure any of you reading this HAVE been through at some point. We all have something about ourselves that we don't like or wish wasn't there. For me, discovering myself and improving my self-esteem has been a long and tirersome upheavel - and I'm still not confident (probably never will be). I called it 'Surgery' because I feel as though although I don't want surgery sometimes I want to perform MENTAL surgery on my attitudes towards my body and personality. I'm not sure if anyone else feels like this, but sometimes I feel like I'm five different people! Anyway, if you would like to know anything else about the poem, send me a message or comment :) Here is SurgerySurgery
A droplet at the axis of your nose
pirouetting, you stretch out your tongue ready to catch it
the salty certainty infects your lips
your seasoned lips taint your brain
your brain selects your recollections
and flourishes the height of regret.

You’re arms take you on a journey
and your fiddlers wipe your seasoned lips that try and touch
your elbows - still bruised
your elbows tell your arms to speak to your
Shoulders, which shrug at you
and tell you to mention it to the collarbone
collarbone says it’s simply there for show...
You plead for the comfort of your neck...
 Except it’s chocking on salty certainty.

So you look down to your hands,
the crafters.
 Then you remember what the fiddlers did,
the marvel that they perform
But the horror that they caused you?
So turn them aside in disgust!
You ask your wrists.
Who do I seek?
And the wrists say it’s time to lock onto to your thighs
your thighs say they’re not organized
then you fall to your knees
you say please!
Please, help me where do I go from here?
Why am I being chased?
The knees say they’d help but the legs know the full story

The legs just stand there in all their glory
And say don’t run, just confront and you’ll learn that the
Droplets of sorrow will be gone by-
When?
I bawl and crawl and fall
to the floor
so I can pour her onto my .

She’s marked with stains.
 I’m tainted with names.
I can present the art of shame
 and who am I to blame?
After all,
I hacked my sodden core in half
and shared it with her.~misshapenskies

I do not own this picture - Google Images