scattered pieces

what happens to those emotions that got stifled behind the “shush” and “shut your mouth”?I imagine them now. Like stick figures. Incomplete. They run and scatter like dead leaves on an autumn breeze each time they dare to try and come out.I am outside of myself.i have wandered away.I don’t want to go back; so ….I look at them now…. and stare off to see others flying away that look like the string of paper dolls my grandfather was so good at making with scissors…. some too, torn off and duplicated and retried with frayed edges.they blow on the wind .look at them fly like flying kites that sail aimlessly across the sky as if it is the ocean as if it is the galaxy ever lost in outer space ….earth to lostgirl ….

the dissection of

emotions that I often write about 

I am just the sample; apparatus 

as I recognize …. “you intellectualize your emotions ….” my first therapist told me ….take them out, put them on the table yes like I have noted some others do to avoid facing emotions; so, well— and …. I can only write about what I know —so this, it is based off of my own.And to compartmentalize to compare it to intellectualize; it is somewhat the same —to compartmentalize you step away from emotional events as they are arranged in different boxes— each box is for a different mood and work as distraction tools in order to cope through life; specific to the self’s interests of that self’s need of protection and thus jumps in patterns like hopscotch; whenever one becomes uncomfortable or boring but —when you intellectualize it is with a more conscious objectivity; to reason with one’s self but to cut the connection with the emotion of it***

so.what if I reached for that first stick figure that ran away.that got shut up—pull it back ….what—what would you say little-stick-figure?I face it now.it is small.and blank.but the ink is running as if from tears on the paper and leaves a pool.”I’m sorry,” I say to it 

but it seems not to know the words.it’s hardly heard anyone ever say them