The trees,

They whisper to me.

Of the things they want me to believe.

The trees, say

You are strong.

You are tall.

You will rise,

Like me.

The wind,

Whisper’s to me,

Be like me.

Be wild, be free.

Forgive. Let in.

The waves,

Speak to me.

With their resilience,

Their everlasting crash.

Forward and back, Forward and back.

The waves tell me,

Keep going.

The world will still go on without you,
The waves will still crash
The wind will still soar
The trees will still stand tall.
Seasons will change,

So keep going.
Stay strong. Be resilient. Let go, Let in.

Just,
Be.

I planted their seeds some time ago now. I'm still struggling to set them free.

I want to chew them up and spit them out from where they grow inside of me.

I can feel them now, writhing around,
like poison ivy in my veins.

The bitter taste in the back of my throat,
as they creep up towards their escape.


It's too painful to even try to release them,
So for now I guess they'll stay.

My words are hiding within me, growing darker every day.

Twisting around all that I am and all that I can be.


Taking root withing my bones and soul, a dark forest inside of me.

I fear that one day, I will run out of words.
I fear that there will come a time
when every word I speak, write or think falls flat and bland.
That the meaning will be stripped,
and all intentions will be rendered dull after years of use.
My writings and work will be repetitive, a pointless task… a fading chant.
The cycle continues, with no way of slowing.
I drag my feet, digging them into the earth,
but still it moves. My heels are so ******, and my blisters are festering.
My fear is already growing so large,
that even before half of my life has gone,
my words have already begun to run out.
How am I fading so quickly?
How long until I vanish completely?
Will any part of me remain?
With everything I have barely done.
I’m beg, beg, begging you. Please.
I need my words to linger, just a little longer.