Loss

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.