this is for me.
a necessary part of my process
this singular narration
a weaving of words to give
birth to these feelings
welling within– unnecessarily contained.
The worlds of trust you are teaching
with your reticence and fear
are miraculous– though not without
bruises and bumps– sometimes maybe
even a little blood.
i know no other way to exist besides my own
an overflowing heart– whose capacity has
barely been tested.
My willingness to give at times frightening–
but if met with trust, the potential is
impossible to fathom– worlds beyond what we
can conceive.
We are massive– my yin and your yang
sorting words to give value to something
far surpassing any human constructs.
Placing my feet, one in front of the
other– eyes closed– settled back into that
support that none other than the
universe can offer.
heart open, always open.
the edges of myself 