Celina Adrian

29,453 poems read

"therapy session"


ok. i'm scrambled but clear that
I aint never been a fan of anger
tho anger has found wind in me
life, like temper, blows the way its gonna blow
and as calm as I appear to be
I got mad just trying to find me
and I am no stranger to rage
I was there loudly making love to the revolution
while secrectly admiring the cage
that confines me to that stage
where there is no audience but me
looking deep within to rearrange about 2 or 3

stage left
stage right
curtains close while
sitting center stage

reflecting, understanding that karma
is where destiny
is housed and actually I can’t
nothing but the gestures of my own body
the perceptions of my own thoughts
the expressions of my own face

eyebrows furrowed as I am
sitting, sectioning off my gender, my sexuality, my religion, my race
reflecting at which pace
will I run to understand the human race
the unity yet difference that resides in the larger universal space
inseparable human place
where there lives
a commonality

called breath

breathe deep and bleed deeper
cause my Grandma said if you cut everyone of us open we all bleed
the same
color red flows through our delicate veins
people fight to their death
to prove that fact insane
and I never understood how I even got the name

new york city streets were
but a far cry from them days of hustling that lil southern dough
culture shock inspired much of this la bound flow
traveled the world and discovered life itself sits on death row
like a dangling participle
baby’s abroad die cause aint no milk in mama’s n'ipple

humanity says we are all responsible for every little boy and girl
we are responsible for starvation that lives on a hollywood street and in a crumbling third world
and ironically
my fourth role
of film developed the most beautiful photos of a buddhist temple
It’s that cycle where God's rules seem hard to follow but its really also simple
and no matter the ease or hardship
I don’t want my happiness to retract as inward as my dimple

that lives about 12 indentations on my face
when I actually smile

so I’m writing and outwardly reciting poetry while trying to find meaning in a pure air
content with a glass of wine and a lonely page
please just let me sit there
stain paper with my pain cause anger can’t live here
aint no housing something so volitile cause my mind cant afford it
I aint got the time or money or energy to even horde it
I know I can’t ignore it
catholocism gon be mad but I got to a-bort it

I have to rewrite the chapter where anger controls the story of my life
cause life is too short to let it write me
a wise man said, anger gotta be
like the sound a drum makes
though emotional and loud
the echo doesn’t last
so I’m running fast
to find compassion in suffering
by understanding how not to create it
I’m erasing anger from my chapters and I’m doing it in steps and stages
finding the help to climb up and out of rages
and I begin with the words that black hands scribble
onto white pages

no rhyme here just simply, these words:
from time to time
I just need someone to hold the bottom of the ladder
so that I don’t fall
on my face