Skip to main content

Am I as Strong as Yesterday?

Me: I hate these days.

The days where the walls close in on you, the ceiling falls towards you, and the air crushes you. The air feels like a mix of Elmer's Glue and glass shards.............I always loved peeling Elmer's Glue off my hand.

You can't fill your lungs. You're trying to get oxygen to your fingers and toes, but the glue has seeped into your veins, into your bones. A permanent block in your lifeway channel.

It's all just a little harder on these days. Harder to smile, harder to move, harder to sit, harder to eat, to drink. Even harder to take a hit.

I hate these days.

The days that challenge my every thought. That remind me of my unerasable past. That past that continually lines my thoughts and actions. The days that fill me with doubt.

Am I as strong as I was yesterday?

Why is this happening today? Where did the hope go. It was just here! That flower I smelled yesterday, that dash of sunlight that turned the sagebrush into an enchanting story. Where did it go?

What am I doing wrong?

How do I beat this?


The Strength: 

get the words out. move your body. lay in it all.

You will not beat this. It could destroy you. It's been an unfair battle since the beginning. The painful cards thrown your way time and time again.

No. you won't win this battle.

But,
You can work with it, side by side. It's not going anywhere. Viewing it as this thing you must get rid of will only make these days even harder, and the better days, less better.

Don't kill the monster... look closely. Get to know it. Then get on her shoulders and trampeze into the world together.
Then, you will be unstoppable. She's not your enemy, join forces with her. Love her.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lilac Sidewalk

  Same Sidewalk.  As Yesterday.  It catches you by surprise.   But today. They are here. Either smell or sight and you are called out. Silky petals. Our female elders peeking out with their violet irises The smell, oh the smell.  It swirls in your chest trying to coat your lungs, for just a little bit longer. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. You see the crispy. The sun held them just a little bit too long. Close enough, the smell sits still.  But the drops have drifted. Toasted and broiled. It’s gone so fast. Sad and True. I mourn for those that missed it. For those that will forget.  Same Sidewalk.  As Yesterday. Their abode remains season to season. Empty and forgotten Their graceful presence is now a brief memory. Every now and again, I remember what was once. And what will be again.
Post a Comment
Read more

Cat Named Frank

  If you ever find yourself outside of a used bookstore, do not pass go. Open the door and happen upon stories, treasure maps, keys to other worlds, and maybe an old cat named Frank wandering the corridors. You’ll know it’s the right place based on the unorganized shelves and grungy carpet, the smell of dust, life, and letters will whirl under your nostrils. That same dust will hang limply in the air under the stream of sunlight in the stained windows. You will be picked, called out and born here. As you walk silently down each aisle, you won’t really need to read the title. And if you do, do it at the end. If you let yourself feel it, your soul will tell you. Drift a finger over the hump of each spine, each worn and scarred body, and when it says stop, Listen. Grasp it gently, and no matter what, smell it first. The old ones always call to me most. So many hands where mine lies now, so many shelves, tables, and beds it laid on before resting here. There are so many lives it saw, w...
Post a Comment
Read more

Prompt: The Ghost of You

I see in you the pain she holds. The unbearable thought of not being what we need. Could I even recognize you. If you appeared as an outline of us. As a ghost in my dreams. Who you used to be, traces the outlines of your eyes. Fades into therapy sessions on the past. The ghost of you when you're stressed and overwhelmed. Your emotions taking hold. Ghost of you shoved deep. Until your stomach aches and your head pounds. The ghost of you hides in books and sleep. I feel like I carry the wounds of her with me but am not sure how to heal. I can feel her shadow when you hug me, an apology lingering on the too long of squeeze. Why can’t I seem to let go, of the ghost of you.
Post a Comment
Read more