Stretching
the days are changing
I sit, I sit. How is it that I exist?
Each day it seems, I try to erase the happiness.
A developed survival. Irrational? Or some kind of inheritance.
Memories take hold, this body remembers the rigidity.
Young and innocent. Fear and control my learned companions.
Stay safe, stay safe, a constant whisper. Never heard, only felt.
Practice tragedy, beat life to the punch.
For the body holds wisdom. Symptoms that seem to predate my time. Sensations stored for generations.
The days are changing.
On the way to year 38 and trying to do, to be, something different.
One word at a time.
Stitching back together time. Language a thread from the past to the present.
Each word side by side, building some kind of foundation. Maybe a parachute.
To jump, let life unfold. To stop pretending I have control.
To feel what was silenced. Memories too old to be remembered, yet never too soon to be felt .
Relax, lean in, learn to believe again.
I have never known anyone to out run time or death.
To stay in the moment. Feel a deep breath.
To be in a body that believes it is safe to exist. I can do this.
Stretching, reaching, trying.
To feel the pain.
To trust the goosebumps.