June 26, 2019

No, I am not Broken. I am Becoming.


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I sit here and reassemble myself

In the quiet moments
When no one is looking.

And something inside rips open, like the searing sea when you can see nothing but water—nothing but the old pain and the whitecaps of waves

There is no land in sight.

At first, I think I am broken
And it hurts like hell
I think I am dying.

But I close my eyes to greet a different sort of death:

A death that tastes like integration
Like healing
Like the perfume of change—balsamic and wild, like spruce needles pooling on the forest floor.

I drop to my knees
So my masks can slide down my face.

Skin bare. Exposed. Chest raw.

I am here.

It is hard
It is messy
It is glorious.

I am alive with the thunderous crests of swelling feelings
So I dive in.


Into my hungry heart
The walls in my rib cage collapse
My armor becomes algae
And sea water splashes on my face.

Salt, courage
And becoming.

That’s all I ever want to taste.

I am here.

It is not perfect. But it is splendid.

I unpeel old layers.

They disgust me at first
And then I see their ripped beauty, these so-called inner demons
I see the grit for what it actually is: love, effort, sheer trial and error.

All the ways I tried to survive
In this beautiful, crazy world.

All the different versions of me I tried to be.

It all drops
To the floor now
And gets reabsorbed into the ocean.

As I get goosebumps
And my tears fall like stars
With each gasping breath.

All that is not me falls away
I let it.

I come undone, so I can become who I am meant to be.

Yes—I become.

Oh, and all the layers that froth and moan beneath the surface
All the parts of my Self
I am excited to explore.

Our waters are deep
They are vast
They are resilient.

We are worlds unto ourselves.

Yes, every woman is an entire world, a pulsating universe.

And it is our sacred duty
Our most holy adventure


To kiss our tenderest bits
To cry out loud
To yell
To curse
To whisper
To dance
To feel
To discover
To go deeper

To the ancient ruins
That are actually the most precious parts of us—weird, wounded, obscure, scary, “too much,” “too sensitive,” intense

Oh, they are the best parts of all.

They shine valiantly in our mouths like pearls
As we eat the sun
And tumble into the ocean
With fresh joy spreading through our bodies and lungs.

Hungry inhales
Precious exhales.

This work, this growth
It is humbling
To become over and over again
To fall to our deaths.

And rise.

And kiss the lips of something Divine
Something bigger than us

It swells like the fog at 5 a.m.

As we dive deeper!

Like the mermaids we are.

I am meant for this, as are you.

I will never stop growing.

I am in love with transformation.

My beloved
The flames of change
Orange and wild, sapphire, sweet, and unknown

I thirst for it.

I will never stop growing.

It is encoded like a secret scroll deep in my bones
As saltwater pours through my every vein.

Because I do not drown. I do not suffocate.

I am made to wander these underworld spaces
I am meant to walk on the edge of the mysteries
And lick them with the starving tongue of my soul
And let the world pulse like a heart inside of me

Let it flood me with sweetness, with the pain, the ecstasy, the softness, the loss, the beauty
It lights me up
And sets me on delicate fire
So I can burn
With every sweat-bead of awareness
That stings my eyes
And brings an encore of tears

Change. Let it happen! 

Change is the chorus. Fear is absent.

I do not fear change.

I re-emerge from the plentiful depths, more whole.

So no. I am not broken.

I am becoming.




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