Everyday Grief

To feel a mountain of shame and exert insurmountable energy to keep from furthering the summit. To know oneself as the adult and the child, forever entangled and tasked with healing one another, everyday.

To wake, feel, sense, and freeze-frame many moments that sent to unravel the mirage of a routine, self-esteem, unending possibility. The cleansing of spirit like rolling in mud with modern convenience and shallow attachment.

To be human, to be animal, to be nothing. It’s the triangle that feeds me but also leeches hope for a reality based in a joy with no end. Am I the beast? Am I the one who knocks? Am I real?