If we can accept
the limited control we have
over the plan, over our futures,
perhaps we can find some peace in the surrender.
But first, we must surrender.
I live my life through the words I write
If we can accept
the limited control we have
over the plan, over our futures,
perhaps we can find some peace in the surrender.
But first, we must surrender.
I’m tired of hiding,
of trying to cover up the parts of me
that express who I am.
I no longer want to be
always searching for the appropriate mold
for each situation
and contort to fit into it.
For too long
I’ve melted my wax body into a glass jar
so someone else can light the wick
enjoy the scent I burn.
Now, I burn for myself.
Sky painted by an ombre
blue to pink to grey to white
a continuous gradient
smooth as a hardwood floor,
no clouds to ruffle the texture up.
Wrap me in the softness
as it descends upon me like a
fresh-from-the-dryer bedsheet
whipped high above the bed to,
in each fibre’s own time,
grace upon the mattress
and skin.
I may need some extra love
and compassion
but I will make it through this
one day at a time
one moment at a time
one breath at a time.
Flowers cannot bloom all at the same time.
Even on the same plant
with multiple buds,
some bloom while others shrivel.
Each grows through its own ebbs and flows,
ever changing.
To draw inferences on a flower’s capabilities
based on one moment of observation
creates extreme expectations and judgements.
To observe over days, weeks, seasons,
creates a grounded reality, an understanding.
One method quick and easy,
the other long and patient.
We can find the beautiful magic to witness
in patience
if we choose.
Recognize what’s yours to carry
and what you can leave behind.
You cannot carry it all,
so let go of the excess.
You are worthy, you are enough,
with carrying only what you need.
Leave the rest.
Grow comfortable in uncertainty
where change infiltrates the air
the future holds infinite possibilities
and you’re standing in the middle.
You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You don’t always need to be moving towards something.
Stillness and silence are beautiful
and necessary.
Get to know them,
so you can understand
you don’t have to be afraid of them.
Narratives cycling over and over in my head
like records on repeat
continue playing in the background
despite attempts to press stop,
pull the power cord from the wall,
destroy the battery.
The songs keep playing.
My attempts to play a new song, or songs,
of a different genre
are acknowledged, briefly,
but cast aside in preference of the old and familiar.
Why do I do this? How?
I devote my being to this cause,
to make it through one, two, even four songs at a time,
slowly rewiring,
building comfort with new genres,
new artists.
It will take a long time
to sever and rebuild,
but I can see a light shining
on the new music, waiting to be wired into me,
and it’s beautiful.
You describe a weight
hanging from your body,
and your desire for it to release, and lift.
I see the weight you carry.
I carry part of it with my own arms
whether you see me brace my body under it
or not.
I, too, yearn to see it release and lift.
Until it does, we will carry it together.
Uncertainty
riddles my logical, planning mind
as though I were in a bingo hall
watching the balls fly about
in the plastic container beside the person with the microphone.
Who knows which one will come out next?
One can only hope for what they need.
Flying around in the transparent container
I see chaos, I feel chaos.
Endless possibilities with unlimited sequences.
All I can do is wait,
marker poised,
to hear the next step blare through the sound system.