Break All the Narratives Before you can break those chains that cling lovingly break all those narratives. All those time you would be confused wondering why things just could not turn out right. Why the curse had followed you from Eve's womb. Stories told of you to you about you but never by you. stories which condemned you before you even tried. They sought to bury in the petrid soil of hopelessness - where you were told you belonged. Never your story never you. it does not matter. It does not matter that you had to claw your way up. That at your slow progress you shed all your feathers. It does not matter that two turned three and three five and five seven - perfect score. You have changed the narrative. Replaced the broken empty vessel to carry all the wisdom you need to carry the water that restores. When no one can help you it is okay. Okay to walk alone okay to say goodbye to all that would entrap you. It is okay to stop listening to the stories that do not define. Okay to stop telling them as if they were family heirlooms. It is okay to forge a new story - one where you are the director and writer producer and teller. to finally break free from the web of the lies you were told to be.
Tag: finding purpose
No one Left Behind
No One Left Behind Before now I had to let you go. Till now You carried your own load. From then You mended your own wounds. That time you bobbed and weaved hungry dead destroyed broken. And now a hand reaches out to you from now the light beats out the cold Here now your moment arrives to prosper. A moment strength lifts you high new renewed filled mended restored. The cold slips right off nothing touches you there are no gaps no hole for forced entry. gathered together like sand grains pulled out to sea we cling together finally free.
Clawing Back.
It may be that you are feeling suffocated by the uncertain buble in which you exist. You may feel buried alive unable to see how far gone you are, but knowing you are about to run out of air. How can you crawl your way out of this mess?
It surely will take supernatural powers- powers you don’t have. So now what? Well you may have a small plastic fork from that dinner you did not consume. It look feeble, almost ready to break, but hey, it’s all you’ve got. But no, it cannot be that you must use this feeble tool, so you wait. As you wait for your saviour you begin to get delirious. You forget that the space you occupy is so confining that you begin to stretch, only to be reminded by the sudden collapse of your lungs; what to do? Oh what do you do?
You spent so much precious time dreaming of being free, of stretching wide and far, of being carefree. It almost becomes too late and it will be too late, if you don’t get going soon. As you lay there inactive undecided and immovable, there is a constant sticking in your back – sharp enough to pierce your skin and draw blood. Suddenly you wonder if your first die from losing blood or affixation. Just when you embrace the possibility of one or both, cold water is poured on you one last time. Enough to wake you up. You must take this reprieve. It’s all you’ve got. You reach for that weapon and realise it is that stupid fork! But it’s all you’ve got.
So you start digging, trying to make your way. It takes hours, upon hours. Days upon endless days. Little by painstaking little you make progress. Will the earth cave in, swallow me whole? Well you have to continue, either way you will die, make no mistake. So you continue, your harms get so weak, you can barley – but you must continue. You dry to wet your lips but you realise that you are so parched that your tongue has grown tiger like papillae and you draw blood. But you must go one, this chance is all you’ve got. As your blood seeps in front of your vision, you wipe it and continue, there is no time to mourn the loss of life. You must contine.
Frazzled to the bone, no surrender you see a small hole. The aquifer that contains you is ready to release you. You dig enough so you can pour out, to see what lies beyond.
Being Me
Being Me
I tried to crawl -
out of me
but it would not let me be
and hacked at loose ends
waiting to be completed.
All my insides spilled out
Plop!
Blood everywhere.
I tried to melt me
to shape me
but I dried too quickly
like that hunchback I am now deformed.
Then...
then I took out my brains
set it aside, neatly
to make space for everyone but me.
But somehow my wires crossed
short circuit
explosion was imminent.
Wires got misplaced
forgotten
lost.
For all I troubles they put me away
in a cold cold room
no windows.
Left to my own devices.
Left with nothing else:
"well may I could perhaps
be
me?"
Though shaped by this Frankenstein world
I am not a monster.
ill-shaped, wires crossed
I must find a way to be me.
I Must Go
I Must Go I must go now too long you've held me down. - I'm not finding fault because you loved me. But you see you loved me too much and now I must go find me. I must break free of the portrait you painted me to be You see, I must find me. To find this wisdom and maturity that your love has denied me. You see, I must find me. It's not being selfish it's surviving. If I truly want to fit into me then I must leave. I will carry you everywhere I go whether near or far. You will be here cheering me on. But I must go. To prove to all what I can truly do and be, when I know me.
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