Brokenness

Sometimes there’s a sadness – quiet 

brewing. I wish I could see what others grasp in me. 

My eyes hold an ocean 

blue and with purpose. 

My back holds stories no books have the spine to carry*. 

Sometimes 

there’s a strong pull towards the undesirable. 

As if ghosts from my past urge me 

to go back. 

They offer an illusory promise of safety; 

on days when I am hungry, it feels reassuring. 

Yet

I choose to be alone,

I choose this distinct pain, in my resolve to never sell myself short again. 

It all comes down to choice – 

an art, like everything else. 

I hold in me a secret

heavy. 

Shame is its faithful servant. 

I bear witness to its sprouting just like a butterfly in its cocoon 

Once in full bloom I will release it. 

To let it out is to utter vulnerability, 

to expose that fragment of myself that proves I am just like you – 

fickle and fragile, yet strongly rooted. 

I am still unfolding, gathering strength 

and perhaps soon I will gift myself to this world of miracle 

as I am.

***

“Take your attention down into the tiny, miraculous stitching of the life you are creating from nothing, and trust that each small thread is connecting you to the greater body of belonging. One day, maybe today, you will look back on everything that came after your decision to attend to your life like an artwork, and you will see a great number of years symbolized in moons and stained with blood, stretching across a great landscape behind you, and you’ll know you have come a great distance. Here, with your great cape of wound-moons, a piercing presence in your eyes, a living history on your skin, you will know you have always belonged.” “Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home” by Toko-pa Turner  

*Quote inspired by Rupi Kaur