Hesitance to Start

3 Apr

There are many places to start. But none of them are places I want to.

There is an honesty required for this process of excavation. I’m not sure I am ready to begin. I am afraid of what I might uncover. That I won’t be able to return.

The synthesis is more painful than I anticipated.

I am taking any distraction I can get. I want to unknown this pain. No healing, patching, or recovery will occur until I fully acknowledge not only the present, but the past as well.

I don’t know where to start.

You have asked too much of me. Consistently. I have run out of coats of paint to mask the jarring reality of what we created together, but you should have created alone.

I am not your partner and I am not supposed to be. I feel like I am trapped as a young girl. Waiting to be cared for, waiting to be loved. Intensely permeable. Terrified of being shamed and abandoned.

I measured up as trouble even before I graced this earth. So here I am…an adult of sorts, still bracing for my inevitable realization of the unraveling I have caused.

suspending and upending a debt of existence…

23 Jan

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I’m suspended. Somewhere between existence and complete reluctance to my present being. Loosely tethered. Lightly bound. Weighted only by the inherent consequences of my physical space and its requirements.

Not worthy, not deserving, not proud. Catastrophic. My existence, even upon inception into this world. Rattling the cages just enough for the ghosts to escape from the closet, revealing their presence to the rest of the house.

Unhidden, unearthed. The chips began to fall, slowly at first. Then the ground began to shake and an avalanche followed. We emerged from the rubble but it still weighs heavy around our ankles.

Perhaps it weighs heaviest around my heart, around my ankles. The center of causation. The one who pulled the remaining bricks from the foundation.

Every moment from the beginning, earning my value, penny by penny. Insurmountable additions against my permanent debt.

I wear my emptiness and invisibility like a badge of honor, revealed to no oneand understood by the same hollow crowd. I’m winning by shrinking, I’m winnin by taking up less space, less resources, less light, less air. Less belonging.

Constantly wrong. The patience game is one of rewriting one’s history. Search for a reason to be. All the wrongness adds up. I dig in the dirt for an answer. For a rightness that is always just past the edges of my searching fingers.

The clock has spun moments into years and I am still suspended. Afraid to be. Afraid not to be, to damage what fragility lies around me.

The debt is too big to add to and too deep to dig my way out. Forgiveness. Essential and impossible. Only one person can relieve the debt.

Her pen is inclined to package this complication deep within the tomb of her own heart.

Freedom is sometimes more terrifying than we can imagine.

 

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Broken or not or nothing….

22 Nov
In the world I am. Some. Thing. Times. One. Any.

Being in existence amazes.
Being in existence frees and discovers yesterdays
in broken promises made to the flesh around my stomach.

Broken or not or nothing.
All yesterdays turn into tomorrow, 
whether or not we believe in them.

Today my forearm. 
Sore from the constant invasion of my freckles into my skin.
Demanding.

Tomorrow a leather protection keeps myself from myself.
Like saran wrap on a wound to stop the bleeding.
Uncomfortable and ineffective.

Self-imposed.
From many yesterdays.
Still.
Continued into many tomorrows.

No make-shift procedure to alter the well-altered state.

Ulterior motives lurk, 
      invisible to the naked eye,
            but quite revealed to the inner gut.


Contents…Components…Boundaries

22 Nov
inside the womb
breathing water
oceans swell 
tumbling inside the soft but solid contents of my insides

deep breaths fill my lungs with water
which is exactly what they need and crave
boundaries included and disregarded on all surfaces of my being

oneness
one anything
between misunderstood landings and sheer cliffs

invisible in the fog 
yet sensed in the gut 
and within the tremble beneath the soles of my feet

Lukewarm

10 Oct

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Today the coffee is lukewarm, the sky grey. Clouds hanging low, kissing the higher hills and descending upon the land. My feet wriggle inside my tight fall boots, still expanded from the warmth and space of the summer. Learning to accept inescapable impinging of light and space that
comes with this side of the equinox. Not even the house high in the hill can escape. The house that see’s the sunrise first and enlists the early sunset as a companion.

Tomorrow the sun will rise even later in the morning. More leaves will convene to a new resting place amongst the soft ground. My coffee will become lukewarm more quickly and I will start to shiver when my bare toes hit the creaky wooden floor. My eyes will still remain partially closed as I stumble around the kitchen.

Into….

10 Oct

There’s something about the unknown. It’s an all-consuming thing, I think. The unknown can steal a moment right out from under you. It leaves you. Hovering. The moment before you free-fall. The moment before you lose all grounding sense of place.

The problem is, you know. You know you have a moment before you fall. A moment to create one million possibilities for what’s coming next. A moment to believe in everything and nothing, all at once.

Then suddenly everything you know and everything you’ve imagined ceases to exist. Your brave soul trembles and bounces like a swing left alone in the wind. You close your eyes, waiting to open them until you are sure it will be pure sunlight that greets you.

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Proximal

28 Jul

Nobody ever tells you that it’s never what you think it will be. The expected never comes to fruition as such. I always think I’m right where I’m supposed to be. That feeling is so fleeting. Sooner than later you open your eyes and your surroundings are not what you thought you were heading for. I keep looking up and being disappointed. I keep wanting to change direction. Do I really want to change direction? Or am I just becoming increasingly concerned with my proximity to whatever I’m looking at. Am I just afraid of getting too close? Yes. Am I also just impatient with my surroundings? Yes.

Too close. Something I am afraid to admit that I am afraid of. I only look far into the future so that I can avoid staring at what is directly in front of me. I feel suffocated by the present and so I try to build imaginary bridges to what is sure to come. How sure? Not sure enough.