i can be strong.
i can be tired
i can be
laying on my back
in the grass
on a day filled with sadness
i can be strong.
pushed into a corner of history
were born unto her
before she took her first breath
notions were dragged along her skin
in permanent ink
a map of where her life would go
respect was hers
as long as she stayed within the lines.
in the middle of an afternoon saturated with sunlight
my voice catches
pulling from the floor of my gut
are the words that refuse to be given volume –
to be given life.
when the light consumes me
i can forgive the quiet
it becomes a part of me.
it is in the shadows
that i am submerged in the noise
words clawing out of me
to be freed
from being stilled, silenced –
by all of that light.
Waltzing through a reflection of light
Under your feet, worn out miracles
Make an annual appearance
At a time when all should be put away.
I am shedding skin
pieces of me float away in an instant
like a match to tissue paper
to be taken away with the softest breeze.
I wonder if I am just finding myself in the same cycles of life. Each chapter feels new and different – but as things ramp up, it all starts to feel too familiar. When repetition faces us, we wish we could identify the underlying theme; our instinct being of course to go straight to the source – the commonality being ourselves. I must be the problem, the reason things go down the same path. The dirt under my feet remains the same – even if the scenery around me changes. Here I am again, lost in my emotions, unsure if I am doing what is truly best for me for the long haul, or just appeasing myself in the right now. Is this what people mean when they tell you ‘live in the moment’? I feel like I am doing it wrong. I feel like I know what I should want but can never quite get my hands on it.
There is this hole inside of me that nothing will ever be able to fill. I think I was born with it. I think it is meant to be there forever. I think it has become a part of me, a recognizable feature, something I would feel empty without.
My hole makes me whole.
It keeps me searching, asking questions, my eyes inward rather than focused on the chaos around me that I cannot change.
I used to wonder if other people had holes like mine. My concern used to be with if I was alone in feeling this way. I don’t wonder that anymore. I could not care less if I am alone, because I have grown comfortable with feeling that way.
My alone. My hole. My wholeness.
It has nothing to do with anyone else. There is nothing anyone can do – no matter how deeply they love me (or think that they love me) – that part of me is out of reach to anyone, everyone, all others that cannot see me. It makes me wonder if I am ever meant to be truly seen. We all just want to be understood by someone else in this world. Some might even say they want to be accepted. I don’t think I care so much for others accepting me – but being understood…that is something I think we would all like very much to experience.
i cry for answers
silently from the tops of mountains
snow-capped and untouched
the future – snow-capped and untouched
– feels as if it is being treaded upon
heavy boots printing patterns
across yet-to-be-defined paths
open and vast
stretches of something
i cry for anything
but my cries are lost
in a vast something, which was
once snow-capped and untouched.