All Writing & Art, Poetry. Prose. Letters.

through doors

i’m tiptoeing through closed doors,
finding there’s not enough space to walk back through.
fighting in a war with myself that i can only lose
if i do not let go, let be,
let life pass through and in
when did i get so scared of my own voice?
the knowing that knew me
before i ever truly entered, before
i learned
all the lessons life taught me,
backwards, like a life living in reverse
only forwards and slower.
to be here, now.
learning and living,
all that i did and all that i did not do.
i didn’t see the wall forming but i felt it,
barricading my heart,
while i let myself slip through the cracks
wide open spaces
away from the war zone that was my home.
so i sit and i breathe and i make peace
with a life that feels like death.
but she is dying, isn’t she?
the one who only knew life through razor sharp lines,
where i bled love and breathed suffocation.
and now i’m here
dying into life, birthing into death.
becoming me and learning through she.
i hear a knocking on the door,
trying to force my return, to go back.
and yet here i can be
all of me.
it traps me into freedom,
and one day soon i will surely feel free.
i’m striding through open doors,
finding there’s more room so i keep walking through.

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