Watered out into this cold, cruel world
My parents are still trying to survive
Can I blame them for wanting not to?
I don't either.
Want to lose what I love.
Home.

What's the cost if what I love harms me?
Isolate again insearch for home.
Where my soul can finally rest.
My human can thrive without love's conditions.

My mind loses its grip.
Who I had to be is no more.
My heart numb.
Overwhelmed.
Trying not to care.
Making myself invisible.
Still yearning for deep relief.

I've tried creating a home in falsehood
Belonging to causes & thoughtforms.
Soul is now their prize, imprisoned.
These mental bars amplify the internal echo.
My ancestors' screams through every DNA strand.

You can't fully experience what you don't give yourself first.
Overflow all that energy they want from me from within.
Protect our essence.

Your wholeness is home.

Ash and bones,
lightning and fire —
I lie in a battlefield,
covered with corpses.

No swords.
No guns.
Just my hands
and my war cry.

Battling myself,
battling the world.

The corpses begin to rise.
Ash and bones —
they stare at me,
and I stare back.

In the battlefield of my mind,
I face the bodies
of every version of me
that had to die.

A rebirth is here
Snow gives way into rivers
Flowing life anew

Like I was missing something
that was never there,
something created in my mind -
  a feeling,   a friend,
  just pretend.
                      Comfort.
                       Trust.
                       Care.

      peace .
All parts inside me,
perhaps a 'second set of eyes'
helped ta reveal
what was difficult to see -
  in me,  by me,
but, mirrored in another's eyes,
I have.  finally.


and now a bud grows on my windowsill from something I truly thought I'd lost -  the one I thought I'd killed.
but there it is:  Beauty,  Hope,
in dawn's orange light.
what was gone, now is New,
by no fault of mine.

the,  potentially,  "Best Day Ever".
    i meditate,   prepare,
then shower  and step out.
         Here we go,   again
              we shall see
          I'll take notes
              for what could be
            
             the "best day ever"
one More time,    again

  again
..
shedding skin.


shedding skin.
out with the old
in with the truth -
Finding who I am
when I don't have  a  'you'

again.
   Shedding skin.

to Original colors
stripped down past the blue,
revealing the real me,   set free
not just    what I've been through.

Finding myself   all over again.
shedding skins

The baskets spill, the piles are high,
unfolded truths that will not lie.
A basement door is pressed and bound,
with secrets clothed but never found.

I sort the fabric, piece by piece,
for some bring pain, and some bring peace.
The child I was still leaves her mark,
a tender seam, a hidden spark.

The mother’s cold, the lineage torn,
old stains of those who came before.
Yet in my hands I choose what stays,
what must be washed, what I’ll erase.

Each folded shirt, each garment worn,
a burden shed, a self reborn.
And through this work I come to see:
not every thread belongs to me.

Butterflies in a quiet dawn appear,
threads of souls that circle near.
Through cycles of death and cry,
they wake anew beneath blue sky.
Wings remember what once they knew,
reborn, connected, forever true.

They fall, they rise, they breathe again,
from ash to air, from loss to flame.
A whisper born of lives gone by,
now riding light beneath the sky.
In every wing, a world made new,
rebirth in motion, pure and true.