JHem

Is this an original by me? Passed on by whom? This thought. Before I knew it, I believed it. "Broken." Just fuel for the fire. Everything pointing at "me." A "me" who could someday be fixed. Pill after pill, Decade after decade, Affirmation after affirmation. "Who" believes "I" am broken? When no one appeared, For certain, I knew. The belief had to be surrended, To see "broken" as a lie, For it to be liberated.

The elders prescribed me remedies. Strange was their belief of myself, When their costumes wouldn't fit me. They forced hands around my throat, Hoping to mold me back to "normal." Alas, I was diagnosed as deviance. Shame begged me take initiative, To carve myself into their image, I had knives cut me into shape. I closed my eyes to turn away from okay, Lying unburied near the Grim Reaper, Offering my blood to feed the soil. But now Death feared me, Trapping himself back in Hell, As he saw me rejoice in the anemia. A new "self" began forming. "Superior" than before, Sensitive to bursting. Insensitive to "I." My reflection scared me more than Satan. Covering the lake with holy deeds. So "I" could never be seen. I began inviting breathing Bodhisattvas, Letting them illuminate my false paradise. Allowing me to see there is no Hell to fear. Letting go the dream of  a "better" me, Allowing it to sink into Sunyata, Feeling love n

The ancients spoke their gospel. Inciting concretely, a voice be heard. Why would a youngling challenge God? Lifetimes were spent biting my lips, Words praying the sounds would bolden, Through the wounds I self-inflicted. Only to have my heart pulled out of me, This is how I learned to be blindsided. Maxing my volume until tears broke them. Time spent trying to heal to before. Wishing to be forever much more. But the dream had to be woken from. Meeting through a vow towards quiet. I learned to speak without a word uttered. Knowing silence louder than any sound, Signaling the hand of God to cut my string.

 I remember the swing by the lake. It wasn't one that we shared. We were called to silence. Although no words were shared, smiles were told. A bow giver for satiating the heart. I'm glad a gentle ill came over me. Opening up your chance to invite me to being your friend. Shimmering voices asked us to inquire, "Who Am I?" The empty circle giving the seal proclaiming "empty." For you, a moment you believed to know who I am; willing and unafraid, but that image had to be thrown away. "Who am I despite willing but afraid?" Like what the swing is to me now, a familiar passing thought. As I'm bracing for rejection, you share yourself with me. Opening myself to never cementing "I" for you nor I.