Growing over

This change is just that. Change. I haven’t felt this way before, and I know I always say that, but this time is so different. I’m confronting things I’ve long buried, so deep because I was afraid it would destroy anything and everything if it ever came out. Now I am realizing that is not true. So I’m on my hands and knees, digging through the mud and the fear. I’ve gone so deep there is no way to turn back, and I have tried. and so I’m here- surrounded by dirt. Fucking disgusting, smelly dirt. And I don’t know how the air will feel when I breathe it again. I don’t know how the sounds will vibrate, I don’t know how I will speak. I don’t know much besides what the back of my hands covered in dirt look like. The unpleasantries i’ve witnessed do not make me unpleasant. I am not my dirt.  Nor is this quicksand. I am not sinking. Seeds grow in dirt. So here I am, a seedling. growing over.

 

 

 

 

 

with love

-alle rae

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recluse

she feels so stuck. only here she feels free. but she’s trying to move away from the absolutes. she clings to their frigidity, their motionless and unwavering spirit. she strives to be like them. strong. frim in their decisions of extremity.  analyzing the grey space is tiring. she tells herself to keep breathing but she feels like the air isn’t circulating properly. her lungs are whispering: open

her bones are shaking and her fears are right in front of her

she won’t let them win because she never does. but what is never, if it really means sometimes?

how absolute is absolute anyways?