I live my life through the words I write
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.
Surf along the rolling tides
there’s no use trying to swim against the current
the only person you’ll end up hurting
is yourself
and when you depend on you, like you do,
it’s not worth the compromise.
My breath is here to support me,
staying close at hand,
a gentle friend to call upon
in times of need.
I have needed her
in the late night and early morning hours
yesterday, today, to guide me
away from anxiety,
back into reality.
Please, breath, stay close to me.
I need you now,
and always.
The wood has been treated
with pressure.
Built to sustain hardships.
Arranged with equal spacing,
board after board of wood builds a wall
strong, and powerful.
Blocking more than can pass through,
it makes you believe you have a chance,
through the narrow openings.
Reality stands different.
Border. Barrier. Boundary.
All names apply.
Its commonality in partitioning property
eludes us,
the shared spread of land between us
stretches too far.
A new collection
of wood designed to withstand pressure,
due to arrive soon.
With the cloth in my hand
I wipe away the dust, the grime,
make the porcelain shine white
and smell like lemons.
Week after week, it’s become a routine
to maintain upkeep.
With the breath flowing in and out of my nose,
I wipe away the splattered remnants
of anxiety’s lashes,
where she’s struck out against my body,
trying to take control of me.
My breath restores the light,
so I can shine, and smell like lemons.
Day after day, moment after moment,
minute after minute,
it’s become a routine
to maintain upkeep.
Riding the waves of emotional lability
makes my soul weary.
How many hours of turbulence
must I endure
before the storm passes?
Fighting against the waves
brings more exhaustion than acquiescing
but even still,
I collapse, depleted of energy, at 10 AM.
I submit to the emotional storm,
praying,
I retain enough strength to stand again
when it clears.
Most of what I live in fear of,
in the shadows of anxiety
are circumstances fabricated by my mind.
They come from within me,
my own doing,
and break me.
If they come from me
they can end with me too.
I can acknowledge the discomfort
and the depths it reaches
down into my blood and bones.
I can see it there,
give it a name,
inspect and observe its nature,
its behavior.
Why has it chosen to bury here
in my body?
What does it yearn to tell me,
to show me?
How can I help it heal, move on?
What can I find in the space
it leaves behind?
I can acknowledge the discomfort
and grant it permission
to help me heal,
and grow.
They say comparison is the thief of joy.
I’ve seen this, felt this,
I know this.
But still,
I cannot understand
why I expose myself to robbery
time and time again.
Dawning Words 