Journey

June 7th 2019

Not a precipice, not a fork in the road.
I know where I am going is just the bridge and I think it is safe to cross
but the water under it brings fear
Will the bridge give way?
Will I fall forever?
Have my casual swim lessons prepared me to save my own life?

What if I am not supposed to do this alone?
What if this was never the plan of humanity…

What if I am able to feel safe and secure with the people I know?
What if I am allowed to be my true self regardless of rules?
What if “the plan” was for me to become fully me?
What is the journey I am on now leads me to something more beautiful than what others have planned for me?

Trust Wall

I built this wall.
Brick by brick.
“Yes, yes” I say. “Yes, I trust you.”
Another brick.
Pain, hurt.
Trust is good, “Yes, I trust you”
Here is a brick.
Again? Why should I trust you!?
After what you did? After what you said?
See?! Here. Fine. Here is a brick of trust!

It becomes habit.
The wall grows higher.
The pain cuts deeper.
Then. It’s numb.
What is pain? Trust is pain. Pain is trust.
Trust is this stupid wall.
The wall that blocks me from the real you.
I say it’s trust, but now it’s self defense.
What should be a beautiful building?
A stupid wall.
“Walk around it!” you say.
“No” I reply. “I am trying to trust.”
But real trust is safety. Real trust is two sided.
Real trust builds a beautiful house.
Not an ugly wall.

So here I sit.
On my wall.
I want to see over it.
I want to see through it.
I want to see what you’ve become past my dusty wall.
But this “trust” built of bricks

blocks me from you
Under the pretense of helping.
Under the idea of giving you independence.
Under the thought you have a better plan.

But trust.
Trust is two.
Trust is an invitation not a fear of rejection.
Trust is where you see the beautiful.
Trust is a hope for the morning.
Trust is a beautiful house. A beautiful home.
Trust is not sorrowful or lonely.
Trust is meant to be beautiful.

I can’t take down these bricks, but you can help me.
I can’t undo the words, but we can undo the wall.
Bricks can be used a second time.
So won’t you build with me?

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Originally written June 12, 2016

One Day

One day.

One day consisting of 24 hours.

One day of inhales and exhales.

One day where people walk, talk, think, and speak.

One day when people are born and people die.

One day that contains joy and sorrow.

One day is the same as yesterday.

One day will be the same tomorrow.

There is nothing new under the sun.

Today is one day.

Breathe.

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Written November 8, 2016

Ends and Begins

The script for my life

ABC’s 123’s

Counting and reading

Writing and learning

Checking the boxes of an ordinary life

First steps, always happening.

Old beginnings, new endings.

A cyclical pattern, unknown was the start.

If I could find it would I understand?

If I could map it out would I better plan?

Could I understand the way my mind works?

Could I grasp something solid with the trio contained plus liquid and gas?

Trinity of self. Mind, body, spirit.

Only now I begin to truly hear it.

My body.

A breath in. A breath out.

each one ends. each one begins.

a cyclical pattern.

Of course there was a start to this… There will be an end.

But unknown.

I know the start of many happenings.

I know the end of many.

But why do I concern myself with this darkeness of the unknown?

Is the unknown always dark?

Is there such a thing as known?

Perhaps light comes from being unknown.
Perhaps light is defined by something other than known or unknown-ness.

Perhaps trying to define this in some form of poetical prose will not help.

Perhaps. A cup of tea.

The breeze outside my window.

Hearing children laugh in the distance.

Smelling a candle and seeing its dim light fade.

Perhaps a realignment with my true self.

The one I have hidden back in a forgotten room.

Waiting until it is safe to surface.

For the lights to be off so that I cannot be seen.

But cannot my true self be this one I have created?

Is the true self only the best self?

It’s probable that this is another unknown.

Maybe myself, being what it is, needs growth.

Maybe there is not a good or bad or best or anything at all.

I wonder if there is such a thing as just.

just being.

just resting.

Believing that I don’t mark off every check box

I don’t type out all of my thoughts

I don’t finish every book or watch every episode

I just am. I exist. I am safe. I am loved.

To be. Alive. Fearing death more than fearing life.

Or to lack fears at all.

The softest blanket taking over the place of a usual lightning cloud

The silent room taking over the screaming mind

a calmness.

a peace.

the start.

the end.

Lately

Lately, I love the little things
Lately, I can’t ignore them
Lately, I also attempt to scorn them

The smile of friendship starting
The smile of a joke continued
The smile perhaps of misunderstanding?

Misunderstood in the past. Now notwithstanding?
Misunderstood, the fear of it, taking over my planning
Misunderstood because of fear of misunderstanding

Living too far into the future
Living with my fears of bringing my past along
Living cannot happen if I drag this on

Subdued thoughts
Subdued actions
Subdued for too long brings compression

Compression, holding back my heart
Compression, keeping myself from ever giving my heart
Compression, lurking in the corner to explode, implode

Hopes that I have once had, moved on
Hopes that moving on is no longer my forever journey
Hopes that I may rest, that I myself am who I really am

The longing mixed with patience
Patience mixed with fear
Fear mixed with longing

Spinning. Around. Stopping.
The words of my heart
The beats of my heart with

One glance
A tone of voice

My name

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Originally written October 9th, 2017