I am

I feel and I am. I am the one that sits, writes, listens, observes. I hear, I sense, I feel. I can create stories that I am more or less important than you, than the trees, than the rocks, than those on our phone screens. I can create stories, narratives, ideas, conceptions that diminish, that tear down your craft, your creation, your expression. I can weave lies into every ounce of your existence and I can label you as the thing I wish for you to be within my mind. I can analyze, poke, prod, nudge. I can make you into something else, something else, something else. Always something else that is far away from what you are. I can tell you how I feel, how I like it, how I want it all to be, but none of that is the truth of how any of it is.

None of it is the truth of what truly is. The aspect of me that goes fast, that moves quick, that only slows down once the final fence has been cleared and I’m out in the wide open pastures. A fire horse running, galloping across wide open fields. The stubborn witch who recreates, repeats, recreates, repeats. Says it over and over and over again. The one who denies, who pulls who tugs, who trudges along with a kink in her neck to keep from looking into the sun. The one who knows that the sun will blind if I stare all at once. The one who sits at the base of a tree. I am reminded to breathe, I am reminded to breathe. To know that I am the water and I am the sea. And I am everything that you want me to be and I am nothing and I am so much more. And I rise up and up and up and up. Out of the body yet still tethered. I feel I am I settle within. It’s loud and it’s quiet, and there’s an idea that maybe it could all disappear, yet the truth is, no, I’ve settled, I’ve settled, I’ve created a solid foundation, a rooted base within my spine, within my life, within my home, my heart, the keeper of the keys, the ones that unlock the doors of the kingdoms with ease, stable internal. Stable and at ease.

The critiques from your tongue, they unravel you undone, they tear you down, they rip your crown, the one that says “no kings” no kings we say. I scurry away. A rat by your disguise, a child in surprise, I write in riddle and I share my eyes.

The tone of your tongue it’s feathered you undone. It’s not in scum or in the dismay it’s in the settling, it’s how you pray.

How you fuck, how you eat, how you love. How you confront the things presented to you on the hands of those with sharpness. Soft around the edges, warm inside you wear a disguise of oil and grime, of dark night, of red sun. Of boundaries where boundaries need to be spun.

A vicious bite, a cold cruel world. A word twisted from your insides. Tongue, tongue, tongue. Tongue. I say it to myself a rebellion in the face of rebellion who am I fighting if it’s only me locked in this room with this single skylight. Must I kill the child within? Pretend his death to make it back out into the wide world of something never seen or experienced or felt? I thought I already escaped from this room months ago. Yet I see myself back, or maybe I look in through doors and windows and messages proclaiming “I’ll never leave you””I’m not going anywhere”

Would you understand me if I showed you who I am? Clean the tank when you’re trying to escape. Clean it all up, clean it all up, scrub it all bare to make it all clean. Cleanse the world of its vermin and its disease I see I see I see. It’s me. It’s just me. Call me a monster. A stretch into something more. Eyes wide open, there’s the door, there’s the door, there’s the door. The one that says writing has to be something that others have decided for us. That others have proclaimed right. Write.

My friends teach me stories of stories grafted from within someone’s coffee cup. A coffin, a siege, a sword down upon your knees. I can create any story that I please, yet none will come true until you let go and release. The sight you’ve been carrying, the hate in our heart, your disdain and your tried expression. Let it go, choose the lesson. The lesson simply is, that I am free. And it’s safe to be me. And that love is the foundation and core that’s within me. And you and all that’s around you and me and us is love too. And that we’re fucking free. I seem to shout it. I wish to yell it because I wish to run! Run free! Run free! Like the stallion that’s alive within my belly! The one that knows love and feels love and is love. I can cry if I want. I can try and shove it all up within me. I can laugh, I can play. I can see how things make me feel and I can choose to be okay. I can choose to breathe, I can choose to observe, I can choose to love, I can choose to laugh and giggle and I can choose to let go. To know, to simply and deeply and truthfully know, the passion that runs. That flies, that soars beneath my beings, my veins, my whole system. And the power of calling upon divine assistance! The angels. The earth. The rocks the stones. Our equals in essence, our equals in home. In seeing your perspectives of me, of choosing my own.

What feels like love to you? What feels like ease, what feels like rest? Are you open to let yourself receive? I know you’re trying your best. Pushing your head upon water, breathing for another 10 breaths.

Breathing for another 10 breaths.

Breathing for another 10 deep breaths.

Deep and full and long. Hard and soft and ragged and jagged and easeful. Creating your own rhythms in rebellion to the beat of the drum. The beat of the drum, a rebellion. A rebellion, a rebellion. A rebellion. A rebellion of sorts. Rise up again, feel again, know again. We are all love again, stronger together again.

Our hearts, the beat of the drum, our hearts in synchronicity with the beat of the drum. The beat of the drum. The beat of the drum. Love, our drum. The drum. Our love, love, the drum.