I live my life through the words I write
Sometimes
we travel so far down a path
to look back, in search of the road signs
that led us astray,
is to see a fog so dense
all the eyes can see, is gray.
You deserve better treatment
than you’re receiving.
Anyone does.
Hold on.
Stand your ground.
Eventually,
fog succumbs to the sun.
Is it enough
to reach a realization at the end,
to finally have in hand
an explanation
of why I feel the way I do?
An explanation
cannot replenish
the time lost, energy wasted,
minutes and heartbeats traded for depression
because at the time,
I could see no other option.
Is it something, though?
Can it kickstart the sheep
as I try to fall asleep tonight?
At the time,
I could see no other option.
Wondering
if we shall ever
cross paths again
leads me to the land of daydreams
where anything is possible.
There’s a possibility
it won’t work
but
there’s a possibility
it will.
Flip the coin.
There are days
like today
I need the weather
to grant me permission
to slow down.
Fluffy clumps of frozen water
fall in a parade
beyond the window pane.
Hypnotizing.
Fighting my body
to move, to work,
to achieve productivity.
Fighting against will.
Sit, rest,
watch the snow fall.
This is needed, too.
Back home
to reality
of the daily routine
mundane in comparison
to protected time in a bubble, for sport.
Back to the dishes piled high in the sink,
dust settled on the furniture,
the pen and paper on the kitchen counter
picked up every now and then
to note another to-do
not to be forgotten.
Back to the commitment
of, every day,
working to better myself,
carving away more marble from the sculpture
of the life I want to live,
bringing it into the light.
If you asked me where the last weeks have gone
it would take me a while
to remember, and answer.
Flying in the spaces
between the lines on the to-do list
to get there faster.
Planning for the future
making the most of time,
to stay in the present moment
will put me behind.
Today, the rush slows down
I can enjoy stillness for moments more
though it feels foreign to me now.
To stay on the surface is easy.
To find the still waters beneath;
beautifully difficult.
The cycle begins again.
The pain, the blood, manifests
throughout and outside my body.
I will watch my body swell with pulsing blood
and inflamed tissues.
I will hear her cry out in pain
as she sheds what no longer serves her.
I will feel her energy deplete
as she asks for stillness, for rest, for love.
I will hold her, nurture her, and love her
through the pain of release
as many times as she needs.
I grew up believing
in the black-and-white of right-and-wrong,
the this-or-that,
the all-or-nothing.
As I chase validation
I see my fear of living outside the box
as deviation.
I see now,
it becomes clear,
the opportunity to see continuums
rather than boxes.
What is right, or what is wrong,
depends on your perspective.
What is black, or what is white,
depends upon the shade of your glasses.
I want to live
in a space so vast I cannot see the walls,
with colors and sounds and open boxes
scattered, their contents spilling,
where everything is right, is accepted,
in any given moment.
On the centerpiece, on the table
they have sat, unopened,
untouched save for the dust cloth.
Unwilling to admit my longing,
I fill my head with stories
of how the timing must be better,
not now,
to make the experience worthwhile.
The present moment, for months,
unworthy.
Unworthy
of experiencing the beauty,
the tranquility,
the magic
of moments like these.
Re-writing stories
by candlelight.
Dawning Words 