“I raise up my voice—not so I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard…we cannot succeed when half of us are held back.”
Another one bites the dust. A potential companion swept under the rug by their own hand and their own broom.
What do I do?
What do I say?
What do I radiate that makes me not fit?
Some may say I am not pretty enough. At least not under this makeup.
Some may say I am not thin enough. At least not under these clothes.
Some may say I am too intense. When I haven’t taken my meds
Some may say I am too strong-willed. When I speak unashamedly.
Perhaps I am simply too loud.
How long have I been numb to my own insecurities? How long have I been bowing down to the pressure of ‘not good enough?’
Too long. Too long.
I am here. I am breathing.
My body is unique. It has marks, and bumps, and bruises, but there is no ONE like mine. My gift.
My voice is strong. My laughter fills up the room and reminds those around me that I choose happiness. My gift.
My emotions bring me colour. I have looked in the mirror and asked myself if I feel too much. I feel just the right amount. The question becomes acceptance, becomes love. My gift.
From this day forth I don’t apologize for the gifts I have been given, not even to myself.
I simply pass my gifts to others.
Biting into the cake. 3 forks, 3 friends old and new. Where would we be without the comfort of familiar faces in a world too big to comprehend?
“Happiness is only real when shared
– Christopher McCandless
The sweet faces ease the monotony, provide ample distraction, and maybe some love along the way. Regardless, your best friend must still be you. Your real self. No. Your true self! Faces come and go, but the face staring back at you in the mirror stays, ever changing, but still constant there.
Wrinkles, creases, tired wizened eyes. Still alive and still breathing.
The forest with a friend, is not so different as the forest on one’s own. Conversation included within both experiences. The conversation is worries, desires, love gained, love lost. It flows and it pushes. Don’t fight it, don’t force it and with each step you will submit. Feeling each thought. Yes, FEELING. Understanding that thought to the full. The same goes with a more terrestrial companion. Small talk, chatter, but as the path broadens so does the connection. The human connection.
“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
I am Human. I am a human being on a path. Healing path. A path with streams and puddles, ponds, and lakes. Bodies of water that are going to wash away the dirt on my tired, tired, tired heart. The heart is a metaphor for the centre of deepest emotion. The place where love culminates, and pain pumps hard. Weary heart pumps and pumps. Pain filling up the throbbing veins. Making them heavy, weighing down muscles, pressing painful against bones. Many tears have been shed, as many perhaps as that proverbial liquid. Love is rushing and pumping too.
My heart is exploding . My pain teaches me much. Abandonment teaches us that before seeking love from others, we must do so from ourselves. Friends passed on remind us to cherish the living. Family is a gift, and unconditional love is a rare and priceless blessing. Boiling hot pain in the veins can be transformed into the purest love by power of highest alchemy. Full of pain, full of love. Human.