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The Becoming

09 May

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I’d barely opened my eyes
When I remembered the dark You asked me to sit in,
The clouds that I’m not yet allowed to wave away,
The heaviness I have been told to trust You to lift from me.

Upon first waking, I was flooded with the electric panic
Tingling along my limbs and around my heart,
Constricting my lungs and my hope,
The racing thoughts crowded out my dreams

And You whispered, “Trust Me…”
Because You know I want to move and wave and lift,
You know I want to know and help
Instead of wait and be…

I told You I didn’t know how
And Your love letters came to life before my eyes:
“Be the beauty that lives inside your dreams,” You said to me,
“And trust that I created you for that very purpose…”

The tingling faded,
My heart beat on,
My breath came easier,
My mind slowed.

Becoming is hard and painful,
The undoing of what so many years have fixed like stone,
The gentle unfolding of brittle pages that stiffly cling
To dusty binding so that they may be read anew by the eyes of Love.

And a page cannot unfold itself
Without crumbling into dust in its own impatience
And I cannot become myself
Without falling headlong into my own destruction

In my excitement to already be the next me,
I forget I am still ensnared in the not-yet
By pieces of the me I have outgrown
And yet, haven’t quite let go of

And so I turn my eyes upon You
And I soak in all of the beauty of Your wonderful face
Letting the image I was made in
Soften me into the beauty You see in me and sowed so gently into my dreams

That I may bend and not break
That I may walk and not grow weary
That I may love and open my pages
That I may tell the story of my becoming…

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Posted by on 9 May 2017 in Poetry

 

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