prompt: cautiously optimistic
the smallest strings still connected
slowly snap as the thread unravels on the rope tethering me to the shore of the known.
my boat isn't being pushed or pulled in any direction but it wants to leave the dock
i fell off a bike the other day.
every morning i change my bandages and redress my wounds.
the stinging pain ebbs and flows, and the bruise on my ribs has migrated to my back. i can not predict how i will feel tomorrow and my brain tells me to overcompensate, while also reminding me that the last time i did that i ended up throwing out my hip flexor on the right side. each moment i can only stand up, listen, and trust that i will know what to do when i need to do it.
every single day is a creation.
when you’ve spent the bulk of your years
it’s hard to break down barriers erected if you didn’t realize there were builders laboring along to begin with.
to begin tearing is a vulnerability.
“re-dok,” a portmanteau, is the Tibetan language reminding us both hope and fear exist;
re-dok is a feeling with two sides. where there is one, there is the other, and this is the root of pain.
“do you think that there is energy trapped in this leg?” my friend is serious, and for once in all the years i have known her, i listen openly. it isn’t coincidence that every time i fall, this is the side i injure. my dominant side. we repeat abusive relationships until we learn how to deal with them. perhaps this is reflective of other trauma in my life i have been willing to endure.
i cut the final piece still hanging on to the dock and the snap i expect does not come.
all fears i had of whiplash and sudden collision confront me with a clarifying non-existence.
my unchaining changes only the arrangement of particles
the world continues to move and i am still breathing
romaincrisis
dededos
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
