You can only abuse someone for so long
until they get tired of your shit
and stand up to you
This is true
even when that someone
is yourself
You can only abuse someone for so long
until they get tired of your shit
and stand up to you
This is true
even when that someone
is yourself
Don’t be afraid
to dissolve
old layers
of yourself.
Caterpillars
completely break down
inside their coccoons
before they become
butterflies.
This poem is dedicated to myself and to all of my readers. ❤
“The places where you have the biggest challenges in your life become the places where you have the most to give, if you do your inner work.” –Tracy McMillan
——————————————————————
I pray
that the pain of your today
becomes the pride of your tomorrow.
I pray
that the struggle of your today
becomes the strength of your tomorrow.
I pray
that the torment of your today
becomes the triumph of your tomorrow.
I finally see the mean inner voices for what they are:
part of the family.
I’m never going to eradicate them.
Fear,
self-doubt,
self-criticism,
and depression
will always be in the car
in the road trip of my life–
a month from now,
a year from now,
ten years from now.
And that’s okay.
They can be here–
as long as they know their place.
They sit in the back.
They sit shotgun.
They are not the driver.
I repeat:
They are not the driver.
*Credit where credit is due: this poem is a paraphrase of a part of Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert.*
My creativity
is like a whack-a-mole:
when my demons scare it away,
it always pops up somewhere else,
somewhere unexpected.
When the hammer of judgment comes down,
it runs,
then reappears
somewhere I’m not looking.
It’s playful and cunning,
like the Looney Tunes roadrunner–
the coyote
will never catch it.
It’s opportunistic,
like a weed
that grows through the cracks
in the pavement.
It’s resilient,
like Fawkes the Phoenix–
every death
leads to a rebirth.
It must reinvent itself
a million times over,
but it never gives up,
and I’m so grateful
it doesn’t.
I used to think
my forgiveness
was in vain
because it didn’t
change you.
Now I know
it wasn’t
because it changed
me.
You may fear
that if you come alive
people won’t like
who you truly are.
I’m going to spoil the ending:
some people WON’T like
who you truly are.
Come alive anyway.
To grow,
we must accept
death after death
of the selves
we used to be
to make room
for the births
of the selves
we will become
A massacre
I welcome
(written summer 2019)