loss

Letting Go

This marks the first day I left work-stress and lack of balance at the door.

Today was different.

The sky opened up and let out the deepest downpour–

Like the earth was saying, “It’s time to let it go…”

But I didn’t know how, so I closed my eyes

And listened as the peaceful sound of rain

Washed the stains of my memories away.

What does it mean to let go?

Nature makes it look so easy,

But my mind likes to complicate things.

I’ve let this ball of insecurity stay in the pit of my stomach

As words like “job security” and “responsibilitiy”

Weigh me down in this back pack filled with bricks and blank books.

I want to take it off, dig a hole, and tuck it away from the rest of the world,

Because no one deserves to feel the burden of that weight

Or see the damage it has caused.

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.

Dead Space

There is a room in my mind that has no windows or doors.

It has no color–walls stripped bare and blank and empty–

like a force of nature decided to strip a home of its humanity.

Life has left the hallways and spaces of this place.

There is no frame or shape that can explain the barren structure left behind.

It has no name.

It is the definition of “nothing.”

Noise bounces off the foundation like a soundproof room, and leaves no trace of voice.

It is the little hell that keeps people from seeing God or faith in living things.

It is a piece of rotting wood, not good for anything.

This place in my mind–this deadened wood that has no purpose–

permeates my definition of life.

It reminds me of the pressing feeling that nothing lasts and everything fades to the past and pushes people back

until they can’t see color anymore.

It’s a black and white world.