Committed

In a space.

Not a bad space.

Just - uncomfortable.

I can match you - I can feel you where you are -
the trick is to feel myself while doing so.

Either feeling you,
or feeling me.

But I can't feel me while feeling you.

Yes, I said that.

But you're not listening.

Oh, you are.

I just feel like -

Oh.

That was just it, wasn't it?

I felt me, was trying to express me,
and didn't feel you feeling me.

I don't know how to ask you to meet me.
But I think that's what I need.

Can you be right here with me, please?

Just here.
Now.

If I run, run with me.

If I hide, hide with me.

If I laugh, if I cry,
fly at the fire speed that I fly at -
only to have you with me,
to witness me,
and I don't want to be alone.
Not without you.

I admit -
that in self-practice,
I don't know how to ground myself.

In truth,
I spiral and spin and sky dive.
I need you to wash me over
like the ocean
holding me in all places
and slowing me down
at a speed
that isn't the earth rushing to meet me in free-fall.

I am shapeless -
without form.

I wake up feeling a sort
that becomes a Me sort.

That because I feel like shit,
I am shit;
and I can be artful in the ways
that I can be refined shit,
like a queen of England shit,
and that attachment can last
long after I no longer
feel like shit.

Clarity.

I've been using you
as a mirror.
That mirror
shows me clarity.

Clarity of me -
that is,
if I receive you
without the filter
of my emotional
attachments.

That attachment to shame -
that any reflection
that isn't purely positive and bright
is immediately taken negatively;
really though, the beauty there
is that all truthful reflection
is reflection of worth,
and a goodness,
free of blemish or shame.

I want to speak more truth.
That my vulnerability is not a weapon
or a tool to make others feel a certain way;
with intentions - claws out -
to make you be closer to me.

It doesn't.
I feel more alone
in my "vulnerability."
The one that I express
that is no longer true
the moment I express it.

Yes,
I've always been committed to living boldly -
but I've been living boldly for the sake
of impacting others with my boldness.

There has been no real truth in that.

I want to be truly shapeless.

No attachment to impacting others a certain way.
Making them feel sorry for me
or wanting them to take care of me,
because of my Pain,
the magician Pain.

This magician allows me to be something,
something bigger, more extravagant,
elegant and beautiful and tragic.
And I am in love with him.
At the expense of not being able to connect,
at the expense of being lonely,
unreal, unbalanced, always searching,
never happy with where I am,
the real pain underneath that love of Pain,
and I think I'm sad.

Yes.

I think I'm sad.

Not tragically so.

I'm just sad.

That sadness sits with me
not in the way that Darkness or Pain
sits with me,
obnoxiously so,
making me twist and writhe.

No.

It's a sadness that sits deeper in me,
and it's gentle,
like a lady
or a little girl,
trying to remind me
that I have choice
to reach for joy, real joy,
as well as fear and real hurt,
and yes, sadness.

That I have choice.

And that all of it is truth.

And they can come and go in any given moment.

And I can let it go.

And that even though I arrive at a different emotional door,
I am still welcomed there,
and I am still Me.

Me being Love.

Me being Accepting of myself and others.

Me receiving others and their truth.

Me being in search of truth.

Me wanting to be loved
to be seen
to be heard
and to share all of that
with someone wanting to share with me.

Including that someone who is myself.

To live closer to my art
and to approach it with truth.

And to know
that there's nothing wrong with me.

Just simple beauty
feeling
figuring it out
appreciating, caring, and loving more than she knows,
and that I am loved.
And I shall love myself as much as you love me,
if
not
more.