I cannot have
both past and present, a tense
unspoken war between
Her truths and my own,
the line growing clearer,
here, as I’ve grown; Hear
my voice, nearing
the words that divide
the fine line between
worlds apart.
I choose mine, I
choose myself, every time.
How has trauma created division between you and others?
In what ways is separation a coping mechanism?
What would you like to bring together as you heal?
I didn’t expect this blast of what appears to be confidence and self-possession today. I’m working too hard, too much, desperate to catch up (here and everywhere else in my life). I’m exhausted. I’m in pain, of a nature and variety I could never have imagined and can’t quite describe. I take each step with no idea how I’ll manage the next. And then I do take the next, and the next after that.
Something’s shifting again, after the blinding physical agony of the past few days. I’m reaching into myself and clearing the way, pulling what I need.
I’ve always powered through; it’s how I survived, and something that I was taught to value long before the term “hustle porn” entered the parlance. I’m trying to unlearn it, except as a means to an actually desired end. Another divide, in finding the line between what serves me and what doesn’t.
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