Hello. I’m Lark Morrigan. Many of you know me from my poetry and personal essays. A lot more of you know me from Yang Gang. And a few of you know me from way back in my Thought Catalog days when I was just starting out writing on the Internet. Allow me to re-introduce myself:
I work in math education by day (remotely because of the pandemic), so that means I do not write full-time. As a writer, I’m currently in the stage where I’m just trying to put myself out there, overcome debilitating resistance, prove to myself that I can write, and become a better poet and writer than I was when I started out — nothing more but certainly nothing less. Sometimes you’ll find a few mental health and personal growth articles because they can be practical in navigating struggles like resistance, self-doubt, and fear of not living up to your potential, but my heart lies within more poetic, artistic writing, so you’ll see more of that here. …
I have an unhealthy obsession with time. I am neurotic about it. Some would say that I the time I spend psychoanalyzing time as if it were human being is a misuse of my time and they’d be right. Time is time until it isn’t anymore and it’s paradoxical — now that I really think about it — how I do not have a clear definition of time despite worrying about it and obsessing over time when it pertains to my poor relationship with it and how much I panic over losing time while wasting time panicking.
But what does time really mean to me? …
I thought I’d sit down and do a list of musings and realizations I’ve had with a conversational writing style. I’ve seen a few writers do it and I genuinely do enjoy reading that kind of writing the most because I don’t see it a lot, and I happen to be a reader who likes it when writers share things in that style, as opposed to something more informative or persuasive.
The more time that passes by, the more I’ve grown acutely aware of how much my low self-esteem is aggravating me and wearing me out. It shocks me how much things like “you’re worthless” and “you’ll never make it so don’t bother trying” keep churning in my mind day-in and day-out. …
These days the silence is unsettling,
but it used to be the sweetest symphony,
when I was younger, birds would sing along,
but now they fly further away from me.
The muse does not know where to run,
but she would never run towards me,
she does not answer my cries of despair,
she does not care if I’m left to bleed.
Every day, I ponder the weakness within,
a load so heavy, burdened with vanity,
yearning for meaning that does not exist,
holding onto the self that I could never be.
The cold winter sky
hides a prophecy unknown,
luring ill fate in.
evade my understanding
yet are part of me.
Am I a spirit
foretelling death, fate, and war?*
But I come in peace.
I fly closer to the ground —
I still fear the fall.
The ground beneath me
was never my foundation —
it awaits my death.
*A reference to my chosen pseudonym surname, Morrigan.
My eyes are closed, but I see everything. A holy temple with poetic lines scrawled on its walls that I faintly remember from a childhood dream is within my line of sight, yet I am anything but holy. Everything confounds me and I feel as if I’ve been carried off to dizzying heights, away from home, but I can still see the sun ahead of me and everything in sight is clear as day.
Yet my disbelief and jadedness are fighting to stay vigilant — I am still bracing myself for another noose, another grip, another firm gridlock into reality. …
when I lose
my voice — but the air
suffocates the song in my lungs.
when I can’t
push through — but I’m still
stuck, with a negative balance.
for lost guests
like me — but a house
built on shifting stars cannot stand.
Most days, I feel terrible for not self-improving or healing or growing fast enough.
Most days, I think that I am a hopeless and lost cause — which may have been true half a decade ago, but even if I see more little pieces of evidence that disputes it today, this belief still controls me and I can even feel it on a physical level too.
Most days, I feel the weight of grand and lofty expectations and then shame myself for even considering them weighty — for if I were truly good enough, they’d feel weightless to me.
Most days, I freeze up, but the moment I start doing so, I stare longingly into the distance, or rather into the near-distant future, wishing I could just muster the courage and strength to become the person who’s able to turn that future into reality. …
As much as I loathe the word “self-discovery” (and its even more gargantuan older sibling “self-improvement”) because of how it’s been reduced to an airy-fairy tagline, marketing gimmick, hack, and trendy (but fleeting) buzzword in today’s digital fast-food culture, I do think it is essential to discover who you are on the inside — not just the wholesome parts of you that radiate an inner beauty that this cruel world can never understand, but also the darkest character flaws that lurk within and manage to blend in with your positive character traits, under the guise of authenticity.
While it is definitely good to embrace your best side, you can’t move forward without understanding who you are as a whole and that includes delving into your dark side, exposing your negative character flaws, and becoming more aware of them so that they do not interfere with your daily life or sabotage your progress. …
Soft is the light that the passes through,
deep is the deathly quiet of skies pale blue,
gentle is the bird that glides with healing wings,
melodious is the song that she gracefully sings.
Overflowing are her tears that wash her anew,
strong is the conviction in what she believes is true,
rich is the beauty of the world she rules within,
triumphant is her battlecry from beginning to end.
Sacred is the longing that transcends her sight,
restful is her sleep when she sees no terror of night,
hopeful is her spirit as she draws nearer to home,
euphoric is her flight as she reaches that heavenly dome.