When shit gets tough.
I suddenly long
for the very beaches I chose to drift away from.
In search of anything but ‘home’.
I scream and cry
into a pillow that holds more secrets than the walls it inhabits.
I dare to will myself into deeper depths and
Only raise right before the last bubble…
I do not blame the people or places around me.
Where does all the self love and self trust go,
when the shame storm appears?
Living wholeheartedly surely does not leave one feeling like so?
I review speeches passed from the curve of my lips to the ears of those
Who have rested their heads on my shoulders and question, why is everything easier said than done?
I wish this was an over dramatic cry of a lover I gave too much into –
There are layers breaking in many aspects,
the world around me seemed to be crumbling and I found again the sickness of being anywhere but home…
Until I saw that running from the transformation
Always left me worse than staring it at face value.