If you are in a storm,
let the rain fall as it may,
and know that a rainbow awaits you
once the clouds go away.
When you reach the time
when that light turns on,
when you believe the self-reflection,
what it tells you, what you see,
I hope you find the help you need.
We are not put here with the
wherewithal to heal,
or express how we feel.
One generation can’t teach another
when they weren’t taught to deal
with the single hardest thing there is to do:
confront our trauma
before it spreads from me to you.
There is no guide
to explain
this cyclical pain.
And standing up to it can feel
like standing in front of a train
moving at full speed,
hoping that you’ll be
the switch track you need.
But please…
Know that to not know
is completely okay,
as long as you seek the answers
to the questions that keep you at bay,
on the edge of pride and peace,
I hope you finally can begin to find relief.
You can look ahead
and reflect on before
while keeping your feet planted
firmly on the floor.
The present is a gift
from the past.
A chance to enjoy
what you’ve worked towards
and a chance to
make change everlast.
In a world imperfect,
we cannot expect symmetry.
For the curved roads and uneven hills
remind us of unpredictability.
The ability of the ground to shake
or the boulders to tumble.
Our lives are often guided
by how we clear blocked paths.
We’re defined by how we traverse without maps,
how we dance without song,
by how we carry on.
It is anything, but easy or simple.
But we cannot always draw
within these lines we create.
We must find comfort in the inevitability
the lines will break.
I often wonder why the mirror isn’t friendlier,
why what I see feels like a betrayal.
Thoughts of failure and disappointment.
I must unlearn the lie in this portrayal.
For what I see is a mere reflection
processed to believe it’s wrong,
that years of abuse on my body
are no excuse for carrying on.
But I carry with me this baggage
for the years of abuse that hold on.
My curves cause pain to my mind
I spent years settling down with a meal.
Now society shames me unfairly
when all I intended was to heal.
For what I see shouldn’t matter
except to myself when I stare
at a young man who’s told
he shouldn’t look that way.
But why?
Why do they care?
I miss the kid.
He hides behind
a scruffy face,
his eyes still bright.
I see a man
waiting too long.
He settles for less
as he stares.
A breaking point
comes into focus.
The man overthinks what
the kid is smart enough to do.
I’m looking forward to looking back,
but the realism has yet to settle.
The time to reminisce
will come in time.
Instead, I push forward like
a wrecking ball against bricks.
The reason for my lack of disregard
is transcribed in every work.
It’s because I know a light awaits me
in a place my hands cannot reach
and my eyes cannot see,
waiting for me to turn it on.
And only I will know the distance
it will take for me to arrive.
My endless imagination will work wonders,
while my tireless legs continue to move.
And only I will know when I am there
and I will share the light with everyone.
At beck and call
to life, and all
it expects of me.
Loving every piece.
They seem to fall
in place, like toy soldiers
by the dreams
of a five-year-old.
Somehow, I know
that this is what I wanted
all along.
I am at peace.
Born to do something
doesn’t appear
until your full potential
is released.
Call it a protection of a possible disaster.
Yeah, that’s what we’ll call it.
Averting some bad future, bad history,
all at once.
Because I need the smoke to fill the room,
before I can realize where I am,
and maybe where I should be.
It only looks like home.
It’s hard to recall what the words meant
or describe the picture again.
I’ll never let what’s right for me
walk through that door.
Call it a flaw of the grain
found on silver screens;
false beliefs of the world
painted behind sunglasses.
I tie the bow back
on the gift you were to me.
I can’t open it.
I hand it back to you
as I stand up and turn away.
My head held high.
I sprint through the front door
and into my car
to drive as far as I possibly can.
The sun is shining,
normally annoying,
but today it’s charming.
Window down; need the air.
One second of breath
is all I had left from the despair.
Blood rolled from my tongue
as I closed my eyes
to speak to you.
A blow to the head
from some unexpected text
can turn even the most sane mad.
You maintained your innocence,
as I shot you down. Truthfully,
you are not guilty of anything.
I simply spent one too many nights
wrapped in a blanket, too warm,
asleep to the beat that my drum was making.
The rearview mirror now faces me;
eyes locked on myself. As I drive
to finish the song that’s blaring in my head.