I have always been the odd fit
The stand out belong
The misunderstood accepted
The strange but familiar
The weird that is normal
The unrelatable familiar
The opposite same
The rejected accepted
The uncomfortably comfortable
The almost that made it
The quitter that finished
The brave, courageous, bold, afraid y con ovarios
Misfit Renegade
Who chose to be me
Sometimes you are meant to stand out
Sometimes that is what makes you fit in
I waited for Spring
To turn into summer
For Summer to Fall
For Fall to Winter
I waited for Winter to Turn into Spring
The Cycle of Waiting
Waiting, Waiting, Waiting
Always Waiting for The Next
Near Perfect Conditions
Filled With Idle, Uncertain, Decisions
I Don’t Wait
Now, I Do
The story of a feather
That once lived in a bird
Embedded in the skin
Detaching from its home
The wind blew
The feather flew
Rumored to be unworthy
Fallen off the feather’s home
People passing by
Without even a look
A bird flies, lands, picks up the feather
The feather becomes foundation
The feather builds a home
Your words
They sting like pros
Stabbing Swords
Legendary Forms
Parasite in my pores
Transformed myself toxic
Poisoned my own existence
Blinding fogs permeated vision
Coping skills
Self destruction, sabotage at will
Limitations
Transitioned to deflection
No expectation
Utter isolation
Peaceful meditation
Less intimidation
Healed incarnation
Abundant simulation
Your Words vanished
I replaced them with Truths
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
The stages of grief when you find out and apply that when you know better you do better.
Dandelions in the fields
Weeds that help to heal
Some pull and pluck and kill
The plant is a weed
Something too ill
Not knowing the speed
To cure, mend, and feed
Don’t judge a book by it’s cover
Judge a book by it’s content
Everything has a purpose and grace
Even in the most forsaken place
The weed thrives, cures, and blooms
If your hands are full of hate
You can’t receive peace
If your heart is full of bitterness
You have no room for love
If your mind is full of fear
You can’t think of paths as clear
If you hang on to history’s baggage
You can’t fly into promised lands
Sometimes loosing is not a loss
If you are opening and making room
For what is yet to come
What weights you down
Is not an anchor
When your hands are full
Your heart is empty
Your brain is blinded
Your intuition sidelined
You can’t receive
If you don’t let go
Of what weights you down
To release
Is to receive, and be freed
The flower bloomed
Because of dirt
Through shit and gloom
Because of hurt
The more dirt some threw
The more the flower grew
Some called it dirt
The flower called it fertilizer
Than went on to Bloom
Moonlight Bridge
Wide Bridges
Low Bridges
High Bridges
Bridges Made of Brick
Bridges in Cement or Stone
Suspended in the air
Stationary Swings
Hanging from a Limb
Can I walk across or leap?
I ponder and think
I’ll never know
unless I do
so there I go
see you on the other side
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