I seem to bullshit myself a lot,
when the pen reaches the paper I tend to finally feel at ease. This form of self-expression is so much more free.Than to be chained within the confines of a formerly absent mind and by the language I’m so held to, so inseparable with as it solidifies and extends my connection with others in every physical pursuit. Writing is different. It gives me a truer feeling… true to me. It let’s me be and express myself without expectation or judgment. It lets me exist as I am and drink from the goblet of my own inner wisdom graciously. It pours out of me like waterfalls. And then it so reminds me through the memories latched to my experiences how small I am, and how greatly huge in this magnificent world of highs and lows that I continue to grow to be…
I’ve come to recognize many things along my journey
of self recovery, spiritual discovery, and the path I have taken
, as unconventional as it may be…
They all have come together to stretch and grow me entirely
From the inside out and the outside in,
I’ve learned to love myself again
and all the beauty I possess
coupled with the immense darkness I used to detest
Now I feel so free simply being as I’m meant to be
and following all of my crazy dreams,
that this life is for me, and in living any other way
would take away my chi and,
so let this hungry world have it’s way with me.
I am so done with taking control and
living in binds so consumed by a role.
That never really felt like me;
I came to earth to bless, to grow,and be free,
not hindered by the choiceless choices
that fill my waking destiny.
And still it is so that everyday’s a test for me,
and all the souls who’ve come before, who I’ve come to know,
they’ve truly done the best for me, and
in regards to all I’ve learned I’ve come to reach
all I’ve so yearned for eagerly, Well
now it’s here facing me and in each breath I cease to be
any abstraction less than radiant peace.
Behind the confines of such a simply-complex mind,
I’m simply growing in the fleeting moments that fill my precious time.
Do I dare speak on all the bitterness I still seek
for it’s a home I’ve come to know, and
be so grateful for its worthless lows
and all the pain that is my woes.
I love the sinking, lifting flow
that I can so depend it goes and never stops,
and always shows me where to go,
for without it
I’d never know
how to plant the seeds I sow,
or embark upon my quest alone,
to without company I have so grown
and leapt beyond the borders of the known,
and without grace I finally found,
the love I seek is all around.