No Mercy

Then she stood up, a stooping sweep from hunched to ascending.

Her head fitting under the crown that had hovered just out of reach.

Her shoulders broadening to match the curve of her fur-lined velvet cape.

Because, it had always been there. Not to rule over anyone or anything.

 No.

It had been there as a station birthed into her. The rightful place of her own esteem.

For she was never a beggar at the table of life,

She had simply lost her way.

She had forgotten that her fingers could shine in polished pleasure, and that would be enough to smile.

She had closed her eyes and stretched out her hand, pleading for a morsel of her own creativity.

Covered in tattered linen, she had fallen asleep and allowed need to consume her. 

And that was all there,

Hanging in shreds as she looked up. 

Because all she had ever needed to do was stand...up.

Own the respect she held.

Stand under the light of knowing she was worthy, and had no reason for the filth of shame.

So she did.

And her throat lost the dust that begging had collected there.

Her eye opened.

Her crown shining with a diamond only meant for her.

Her stomach untied, forgetting the taste of starvation.

Her painted toes dug in from the root.

Both in form and in spirit, the wind beneath her settled to lift her away, and possibly place her gently where she could live free.

Forgetting the Way

Maybe we forgot the way...

The way it feels to laugh from the belly.

How free we are when we swing or jump stone to stone beside a river.

Maybe we forgot about being silly or telling stories.

We lost our shower-singing voices.

We got too busy to notice the chipmunk or stare out across a purple-flowered field and sigh.

Maybe we lost our way,

The noise of news and gossip dulling our ears. So we didn't hear the sparrow tell us how pretty she is.

Maybe work consumed the appreciation we had for the weeping willow, and we forgot how to find her comforting roots.

 And maybe the couch became our resting place, no stream to skip rocks across.

It could be we simply became too tired to watch the sun set. Glimpses of her majesty just a reflection in the rear view mirror.

The creeping time swallows up the memories of long walks, and graffiti covers the bridges we sat under.

Maybe we just forgot the way to be.

We didn't see the boy and his swan or the laughter in the eyes of our pirates. We didn't sit all night with an 8 day free man. Because we didn't have the time...

Or did we?

Did we have all the time in the world? 

And maybe just forgot to breathe in. 

Maybe it's time to remember...and remember well who we are.

Deepening

I do not want to feel like I'm hurting you.

My head down, staring at the way the sun shines off my nail-polished big toe.

There is zero parts of me that is okay with these thoughts.

Since I have been hurt, so bad and so deep, that the scars stare back at me in my bathroom mirror through the tears that can't even be bothered to fall any more. 

But when I see you, I also see all the reasons I wish you would know how much I cannot hope. 

How safe in my skin behind my scars I feel. How even just the idea of bringing you into my world makes me want to scream: 

"No! Turn back! You won't like it here!!"

I love watching you, and hearing the vibrations of your voice, even when the words have no meaning to me. 

I want to tell you about the knife I keep hidden under my skin. The one I use to cut myself with over and over. I want to tell you how surprised I was when I found it there, for I had always assumed it was others doing the stabbing. But you see, it was always me. 

I'd tell you about the day I discovered that, and how all the faces I blamed just disappeared. All that remained was the shame of my revelation, and the peace from knowing I didn't have to use it any more.

More then that, I want to walk along a river, and hear the way our feet fall on the pebbles and rocks. I want to listen to the stars sing, and know you hear them too.

I wish you could see that there is nothing about me that can be contained any more. That the fears from my past have fallen away, leaving me bare and wide open on a windy day. And I'm okay with being alone in my bed, as long as I know I share the love I can't contain with those who need me the very most.

One of the things I would whisper to the mountain peaks, is "Do not tell me this is it, for I've only just come to see. Do not tell me I must write the final chapter, not yet, for I have only just begun to understand."

And you, I would tell you-

I don't have any answers, but I will listen to your questions.

I don't have any solutions, but I will stand along the sidelines cheering you on.

My feet are firmly planted in the garden from which I have grown, but if you look up, you will see me soaring above with a freedom I cannot allow anyone to stifle.

So, please do not feel as if I am hurting you. That is a thought I could not bear. 

As I stare down at my toes, I wish for a moment I knew the path to guide them on.

But as the thought passes through, I smile, and give thanks for the comforting bliss of not knowing.