“Maybe I’m hiding behind metaphor.
Maybe my heart needs to break to be sure.
But I fall in love with a ghost.
I lost my balance when I needed it most.”
Am I creative?
Am I truly artistic?
Do I speak words in forms recognized?
I feel like a woman in search of her word.
We all have that one.
Aj’s I believe would be adventure.
Izzy is steady.
My father holds joy.
A coworker is the essence of light.
I am purgatory.
I am lost.
I am utterly empty.
Nothing positive most days.
I had another one of those times sobbing on cement again.
That guttural crying that hurts every inch the sound waves permeate.
I collapsed and just was.
I don’t say this as “I have given up!” Or “Feel bad for this fucking ugh this FUCKING WIDOW!”
Those have no place in this construction.
From my complete ruin I am pushing aside small chunks of rubble.
Opening my eyes.
Squinting in the sunlight that has become so foreign.
I set out on a mission Wednesday.
To show myself that I have worth.
More worth than I have allowed many to toss my way.
As the events unfolded gently I recoiled.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
Or is it?
I am a woman.
I am a woman searching for her word.
I am a woman seeking God.
I am a woman finding herself.
What a beautifully painful experience.
I can manifest nearly anything I really want.
Except resurrect the dead.
“What if we already are who we’ve been dying to become?
In certain light I can plainly see a reflection of magnificence hidden in you.
Maybe even in me.”
-Sleeping at Last (Four)