Cacoon from Pixabay

Rejoining and overcoming.

Overcomes me.
i submit.
Descends in waves crashing waves underneath my outer face.
Underneath images upheld in my mind of who I want to pretend.
Ball of angst coiled and tight.
Deeply wounded still keeping in, in, in.
Tell me,
Tell me once again.

Don’t want saving grace.
Don’t want helping hands.
Hell, something easy to understand.

Suffer hungry soul in my grasp.
Loose bonds growing hooks trying once again to attract.

Turn my back on you vile voices.

Look away no entry here.
Once you had a place.
Now i live to feel every joy and pain.
To seek,
To find,
To endure.
Feel scorching flames.
Laugh and burn in their searing fire.

See the mist to swim in its rank.
Breathe rancid in.
Convert.
Chrystallis forming.
Wings shaped.
Yet monsters lie within.
Spewing darkness.
No light, no tunnel at wit's end.
Endless struggle carries through.

Piercing.
Ripping.

Meaning, foundation misconstrued.
What forms take shape underneath the shroud.
Facades painted in colorful wistful clouds.
Creeping tiny behind soft eyes.
Garden of miserable delights feigning to be proud.

Wash me in your blood, in your richness kind Pain.
Oh, great sage give unto me great shame.
Your wisdom shall set me free.
Whom i’m supposed to be.

Not happy balloons but weighty sacks ripe with fears.
Not moods or fancies thrown in the wind.

Darkness slicing down.
Rips my see and tears out my heart.

i begin again renewed fresh alive in spite of great walls ahead.
Hope whistling from a faint and distant call.
Hurt a gift, awakens my fight.

Cannot wait, stay here, or pause.

Fears hanging on there to remind to not return.

Wings bursting through the skin.
Molted beautiful new form arises grows and lives again.

Butterfly Transformation from Pixabay

Glide with me in New Skies seeking Butterflies.

When you’re down and skies are darkest in your gut. When there seems no way out. Muscles cramp. Can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t open eyes to see. A seed remains.

Covered in ash and heaps of hurt and pain. Buried lost in troubles so vast and harsh. A vestige, the slightest shard of inspiration remains in you and i as long as we have breath.

Fire and spark reside there. Find it. Stoke it. Caress it. And, grow it. A breath, a calming base, a sliver to focus on and cultivate. Then crawl, walk, run, and soar with each spectacular belly full of blessing.

Generous life-giving breath taking us where we take it.

Cosmos Jar Sun Rocket from Pixabay

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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