I feel a loss—
But loss sounds a lot like lack.
Lack of security
Lack of confidence in my identity
And lack of consistent thinking,
Because I am losing a sense of self
By searching for belonging in someone else.
Loss sounds a lot like help.
I want someone or something to help me find the words I need
To validate my emotions and expression
Because I am used to asking permission
For those things.
Loss sounds a lot like death.
Like something in me has died, and I can’t find myself
My words and movements are repetitions I use to look like everybody else
Too afraid or scared to say a word that will turn into an argument I am not ready to fight
Loss sounds a lot like my thoughts,
A mixture of chaos and movement,
In a constant wave of up and down
As I try to figure out what is
And what is not.
Loss is myself.
I haven’t figured out how to see myself through a lens that isn’t clouded by “good” or “bad” judgments.
I haven’t felt the self esteem rising through my bloodstream to remind me of my wholeness.
The only piece of me that feels confident is expressing my lack of it in my writing.
I feel lost.