I’m trying too hard,
Running in search of disorder
In my own home—
‘It must be clean,
Then I can start to feel.’
At the lowest level of my
Self-imposed pecking order,
Once.
But now I possess discernment,
Curious, kind.
I approach these parts as sovereign,
Members of my inner mind,
And ask them to speak freely,
To know they are mine.
‘I will always want you here.’
‘But you must listen to each other,
And know each other well.’

Once a pile of cosmic marbles,
Now dancing in a ring like
My grandmother’s pearls,
Shifting to and fro,
Called forth to speak and listen.

I say, “You’ve done well, now rest,”
I meet myself, and through the storm, I’ve drawn

A map to navigate and simply be.
to see the truth—
As it is now,
As it was then.
I honor the wound,
How I’ve adapted and grown around it
To survive.
What was calcified
Turns to stone—
A scrying glass of obsidian,
To gaze deeply at the sharp lines
Of my own reflection,
And soften the edge enough to step through.