I AM Enough. I Don’t Have to Try.

I’m so alone. I am not seen;
In being praised, beyond my means.

I’ve work so hard, to have your love; to beg your seeing me, beyond these chores.

Beyond these achievements, there’s something more; inside my room, behind my doors.

In silence I’d sit, captured between, page 6 and page 7, of finding the mean.

Seeking for meaning, and looking within, I’d pass that by, and begin again.  I’d learn more than they; they’d see me then.

So I worked hard. I gave it my all. I’d answer the questions, get stars on the wall.

I’d be a genius, and buy a new world. I’d stand up on stage, no more ribbons and curls.

I’d shake the hand of the msn standing, I seldom saw; and move to the “real world”, alone down the hall.

I’d be “important”; no way to not see me then.  But there’s always more to do, to avoid my sin...

Of being whom I am; the eternal light so clear; so pure and so beautiful, only the blind cannot peer.

It’s not my fault, I did what was asked. Every obstacle thrown, I step right past. I became so good, at this game of the mind, that no one could touch me, not even Heart of mine.

But isn’t there more, than this round and round? Of tears that I hide, that lay lonely upon the ground?

The love that I have, that I seek from above, has always been there, in a blind man standing above.

But seeing my own, was a difficult chore; one more challenging, than working behind door.  

I’ve cried and I’ve suffered, to be rescued from “him”; the ruling world, so lost in its sin; the sin against the feminine; the cold harshness of fear; that one might not make it, in a world so unclear.

But I cannot hate him; he did what he could; being made into a god, himself, chiseled in wood. A legend was expected of his golden child; turned black sheep; suffering aloud.

He’s work his *** off, as did I, seeking validity, on Earth, not in sky. Standing tall, strutting about; saying “thank you, but next week is the clouds.”

“I’ll make it there, ‘cause she’s not in Earth. And it’s far too lonely, without ribbons and curls”; without the innocence, stolen from we; each and everyone, that ate from this Tree.

The original sin, still plagues man. That we must know, prove, build condos in the sand. That we must get caught, in material things, in pleasures without heart, where intimacy reigns.

That we must own more, and work hard for that.  That we must be seen, as a fat cat.  

I’ve lost and I’ve gained, the worst and the best. I’ve struggled through life, achieving these tasks. I’ve cried and I’ve suffered, not only for me; but a world so devoid, of the divine She.

She is fine; she is eternally grand. She isn’t above, but equal to man. She isn’t below; just not seen by blind man.

She’s nothing to prove; she is what she is. Divine gift of the eternal; ethereal to no end. She’ll outlast us all. Her purpose is clear; to just be, and Love; for she never fears. She cannot die; but man can, as we; without the feminine, we cannot be.

She is the breathe of life; he the means. To balance them both, makes us lean.  To shed what was given, that’s not our way; but to embrace it all, breathe and live another day.

To work and love, but towards what is true; the masculine and feminine, equal within you.

That this union shine light into the dark, of our suffering masses, pulling the cart. Bearing a weight that was never theirs. Because Satan offered Apple instead Pear;).

**Let my trickster (the archetype that emerges from the lack of balance between these two have the last humorous word. Though the trickster played all along as beast, god, and man unconscious unto itself.