Finding and claiming yourself again.
Do you always feel less than complete?
Not sad.
Living in an open cut.
Using every second to squeeze out each drop of make and do.
Yet we don’t bleed.
On the edge.
Teetering softly.
Determined.
Success at fingertips but sliding past just out of grasp.
Do we feign winning to fit in a mold?
Catch a wave, do what we’re told?
Belligerent.
Not complying.
Stand and face the tide.
Strong gravity pulling and showing sensible, rational ways.
Still deciding against conforming.
Reside in the rough, accept the cut.
Consume heart, happiness, sight.
Low,
Down,
Lower,
Bottom.
Arrested in breath sighing in pale moonlight.
Time is peeking.
Pathetic.
Enduring somehow to give a hint of hope.
Grasping at a new expanding scope.
There in the dinge grows a flicker.
Fighting.
Craving.
Emancipating.
In the drifting breeze.
Coolness lights upon the weighted soul like feathered riches of precious gold.
Dancing with an answer.
Steps on a narrow stairway leading to a comforting glow.
The one sewn in youth remains.
Hunting.
Searching.
Darkness all around.
Ramble through the thicket.
Thorns only scrape and teach.
Grab a fistful of sting and pain. Enjoy the sensation. Let the razor bite then find in the wound delight. Turn it with deliberate cause and make the form yours for purpose and success without pause.
Mold from mistakes our most wonderful teachers, our greatest triumphs. Be not besieged with former woes but gather each…
