I live my life through the words I write
Steps small, steps slow,
are still steps taken,
progress,
no matter their direction.
Even if no one else is watching,
knows your destination
or knows the space you’ve traveled,
you do.
You know.
The journey is long, and slow,
and relies on you to find, and lead, the way.
A worthy journey,
a transformative journey,
to love.
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.
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.
Dawning Words 