farewell, self

I like the idea of gifting funerals

to parts of me that

need to die.

I like the idea of offering them a prayer

and saying goodbye with gratitude

for all their teachings

before walking away

cradling new parts of me

in my arms

close to my heart

so they can grow right from the start

knowing so much

love.

repeat after me: it’s not personal.

Sometimes heartbreaks have nothing to do with you.

Sometimes hearing “I’m not in love with you” isn’t personal.

Sometimes someone is just so unhappy with themselves

they think walking away from a relationship will solve things

and bring them the happiness they’ve been missing.

Sometimes they just haven’t yet learned

that the sadness inside

has been there all along

and will not subside

with a partner by their side.

It will not subside until they learn

how to make themselves happy on their own again.

 

Sometimes when you love someone

you need to give them space to realize

that they actually really love you, too.

That they actually never fell out of love with you.

They just fell out of love with themselves.

So how can they possibly offer you love now?

Sometimes they’re so empty they can’t even

open their eyes to the truth.

Or maybe it’s just denial

that the problem is them,

and not you.

Not love.

 

Love is never the problem.

 

And sometimes you can offer that person space

and time works in your favor

and love is reborn.

And other times, when you give space

the distance between two hearts

grows too far

to ever go back.

 

Sometimes you just can’t know

how things will work out

so you surrender to the unknown

and walk down a new path

with blind certainty that you’ll be just fine

because you had to learn how to make yourself happy

without needing anyone by your side.

 

You have learned the lessons.

Now it’s their turn.

 

It’s not personal.

 

Sometimes when people leave,

it really has nothing to do with you.

They’re just so lost that

they think it does.

my spirit animal is a cockroach

I was born good at building home inside a box.

I was born good at organizing my insides so they look nice and neat for others.

I was born good at fighting the fight and hiding the tears.

So I shouldn’t be judged too harshly when I resort to doing those things. But let’s talk about the weight of carrying the world on your shoulders.

Tell him you love your scars now that you have them, but it hurts knowing and remembering just how you got them. Tell him sometimes you wish you had just been one more privileged kid. Too. Tell him you just want to be happy. Too.

And so what if challenges gave you strength?

So what if the battles gave you character?

How far can those two traits get you these days anyways. Some of the strongest people are still having fights with God and praying for things to change.

You will survive because you have before.
Survival instinct isn’t asleep inside you any longer. I’m pretty sure that’s how these things go. But what do I really know. I don’t mind the idea of having a spirit animal I just wish mine wasn’t a cockroach.

Maybe I’ll keep the stories to myself. The pain locked tight inside.
Or maybe my heart is big enough to carry that, plus love.

For you

For the dark corners
you have learned to embrace
and the soft spaces
you still keep;
for the fragile strength
that has carried you through
and the bravery you’ve shown
when you stared death in the face
and chose instead
to live.
to love.

For the decision you make
day after day to keep hope
within reach
and let go of grief,
for the honest tears you’ve shed
so openly with yourself
and the mountains you climbed
on your way
to peace;
For your eyes and lips
and ears and fingertips
and hot breath in your lungs
for staying present
through it all;
For what was
what is
and what will be.
for growth.
For the voice you birthed from the pain
and for the courage you’ve found to walk away
and let the past
die for good.

For Spring after Winter.
For the light in the darkness.
For rebirth.
For you.

What type of warrior are you?

Another dagger in the heart

You’d think by now that 

I’d have learned how 

to use my shield,

how to wield my sword…

Guess I’m just not

the type of warrior 

who fights off love.