the edges of myself

words, words, words

the vast expanse

mandytigre

2 comments

June 2, 2013

the reason you’re different from

everyone else is because your

potential

is constantly in the process

of being realized.

 

there is an earnestness in your actions

that takes me back to childhood;

honeysuckle along a path of green

and a strawberry patch

that stretched the length

of a summer sunset.

 

And it cannot be denied

that as i walk along next to you–

i can’t help expanding–

you demand it of me–

will accept nothing less.

 

You overwhelm me–

I am overcome

when i acknowledge who you are to me–

when I take the time to stop

and take it all in,

 

exist

within the vast expanse

that we create together.

full-force

mandytigre

2 comments

June 1, 2013

smile

my smile,

a long-lost friend

who i hadn’t realized departed,

slowly backed out the door

years ago, almost imperceptively.

she’s beginning to reemerge

along with the rest of me.

i see her reflected back at me

in mirrors and photographs–

recognizing the joy that flows

from behind her– feeling safe

enough to show herself.

regaining confidence– understanding

that nothing is lost in allowing

herself to step forward– full-force,

dimples and all.

 

like nesting dolls

mandytigre

4 comments

June 1, 2013

standing in the kitchen,

a wave washes over– a

gentle reminder of the

beauty and certainty

surrounding me.

 

for there is little more

tangible than love–

and time and actions

speak worlds more than

flowery words and

unencumbered emotion.

 

they speak to

a carefulness in thought–

a measured action for the

purpose of reason–

 

for there is little more

dependable than love–

and time and actions will

serve only to forge that

bond more carefully.

 

i understood who you

were quickly– recognized

aspects and wanted to

grab tight and pull– hold

on for fear you might

get lost–

 

for fear

you could forget– for fear

no more.

it has no place within

our love (its perfection

i marvel at)

 

an ease and acceptance

like nesting dolls–

one fitting perfectly

into the next– at once

containing and contained.

having reached my limit…

mandytigre

no comments

May 27, 2013

totally overwhelmed by the magnitude of

my feelings– having created clear and

careful boundaries– FINALLY.

though i feel the weight of them

pressing down upon my heart.

 

walking through the motions–

one foot in front of the other–

a handshake and smile–

the playful game of humanity–

when no face is yours and

none can compare.

 

and yet the clarity

with which i draw this line cannot

be denied.  the fortress i create for

my own protection– i will fortify and

re-fortify perpetually– hoping to eventually

be able to lean into a solidity– find solace

somewhere amidst my own creation.

 

i always believed my will was strong– until

you entered my sphere– catapulted me into

this dance in which you cannot fully take part.

you make me feel weak– full of cowardice

and stumbling over myself with desire– and

an insistence of recognition– though recognize me

you do.

 

Your iron will puts mine to shame–

mine melted long ago– evaporated–

turned to dust– i cannot compete–

do not want to–

refuse to engage in this battle which

was lost before it began–

 

my heart dangling by a string–

careful boundaries like threads

used to reinforce that which i know i

cannot hold.  the ashes of my will

do not allow for close proximity.

i am no longer capable of touching you.

the stories i tell myself

mandytigre

2 comments

May 27, 2013

I’m sorting through a lot of late.  (When am I not?)  But by far the most potent thing seems to be acknowledging and letting go of the stories I tell myself.  (And I tell myself a lot of stories.)  Many of them are based in truth, or partial truth– and have some vague notion of a shared reality.  But then there are those stories that are purely fanciful and have their roots in my mind alone.  My stories are lovely.  They are sweet, and rose-colored and most of them have happy endings (except when they don’t).  The problem with my stories is that I believe them.  I’ve been creating them and tending them for so long that they are real to me– so real that sometimes I can no longer see where my stories end and a shared reality begins.  This is problematic.  

My stories make me feel safe.  They make me feel a sense of control in a world where truly, I AM NOT IN CONTROL.  This is the truth.  I’m going to repeat it, just because I believe it bears repeating:  I AM NOT IN CONTROL– no one is.  Accepting this fact is proving difficult– but ultimately, necessary.  My life of late is full of blaring examples of this fact.  It seems it’s time for me to step up and acknowledge that my stories are simply a way for me to feel that there is something beyond myself and my own choices that I can affect.  But there’s not.  And existing within the warped reality that I’ve been creating for myself by listening to my own rosy stories is really emphasizing that fact. 

I can change the world only so far as I can change myself.  I cannot make anyone do anything.  I cannot will another person’s love or devotion.  I cannot give another person his or her power.  I can only claim my own, and hope that in doing so others will make the choice to claim theirs as well.  And the reality is– this is how change truly occurs.  Healing has an amazing ripple effect, like the surface of a lake when a stone is thrown in– it ripples infinitely.  So too does our own vibration when we make the choice to heal ourselves.    

It’s funny how sometimes I feel so clearly like the sixteen year old girl I remember being– so sure that I had everything figured out.  Really, truly believing that at my tender age I knew it all.  So, here I am, 20 years later, capable of helping to facilitate transformation for others, and coming up against the most basic of human constructs lying smack dab in the middle of my path:  my own stories.  

I’ve revelled for the last couple of months in all the ideas I’ve let go of– societal constructs that no longer served me.  I’ve felt so strong and clear in the unleashing of these ideas– not realizing that the most powerful stories, the ones I cling to with a white-knuckled grip, are my own.  So, now comes the truly awesome task:  LETTING THEM GO.

It’s hard to do.  At once liberating and terrifying– but again, necessary.  And maybe it’s time to breathe life into my stories by acknowledging them for what they are.  Writing them down and sharing them– allowing them to see the light of day, instead of remaining trapped inside the useless cycle in my brain.  I believe my brain deserves a break.  My mind is weary with the constant creation of the realities that exist solely within it– and nowhere else.  

I do believe that every experience that we are presented with in life is an opportunity for growth.  I believe that whole-heartedly.  This is where my control over my life comes in.  I get to make the choice about what to do with all of the beautiful or not-so-beautiful things that are laid before me.  I choose to give my devotion.  I choose to create boundaries.  I choose to step away.  I choose to trust.  I choose to love.  I choose to allow my mind some much deserved peace and quiet.  I choose to externalize my stories, set them free– allow them to be as wild and fanciful as any story ever dreamed it could be.  I choose to acknowledge the vast expanse that lies between the truth and the stories I tell myself.  Because I choose to heal.  I’m ready to grow.  

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