Never a muse but a crutch, holding up the weight of others’ addictions. Skeletons. Hoarding their lifelines.
Both a sign of their greatness yet a reminder of their failures
“You make it look so easy,” they’d say as I drowned in their sorrows and lifted them afloat on the feather pen that drew my very existence.
I’d sew my seeds in their concrete garden, adamant their flowers too will bloom as mines once did, only to shake hands with insanity each time I barely scratched the surface.
And so too did I separate from my roots.
Alone now, I slowly reconnect. Slowly rejuvenate. One day at a time.
In my own space, the brain fog dissipates. At peace and clarity, a snake beginning to uncoil, I try and rest but my shoulders still tense. Breaths still draw deeply, quickly as if I’ll run out of air any second. Whereas my mental progresses, my vessel remains very much stuck. What I thought were pillars, a solid foundation, a fortress of truths reveal itself to be a straw house blown down by the retrograde. So as I’m left surrounded by the remains, illusions of safety, I can’t help but gaze beyond at the beautiful, sun-lit fields of opportunities beyond. My, how long have I been inside?
As night falls and the stars align, I become one with the universe. Spirit intertwines with body intertwines with mind. Embodying an immaculate design, I truly begin to slow. To both center and orbit. So many cycles completed, beginning and to be continued. How does it feel to fully embrace myself?
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