I was the injured bird
Nursed back to healthy enough,
And you’re the one soaring through with flying colors;
Radiating a sense of safety like hiding under the covers.
Though you are, “uniquely unique,” you are also like the others
Because now you are the one flying away.

Now I know what they mean when they say,
“If you love something, let it go,”
Not to punish yourself
Or to place your needs on a shelf.
Because when you love something and take its needs as your own,
You know
Your only real option
Is to give them permission
To make their own decision,
Of their own volition.
I know it’s the human condition
To attempt to manipulate with precision,
But I choose based on my values
Not to beg you to find a way to stay.
Even if it feels like I lose
A tremendous defeat
And one of the best friends I’ll ever meet.

I know I’ll be okay
Because my final moments with you are a gift
To receive and cherish
And a gift of love to unclench my fist
And let you slip
Right through my fingertips.
Reminding myself not to constrict,
Not to be swayed by the pain I predict,
Not to interpret this as a personal deficit,
Not invalidating how I feel because I expected it,
Or act on the feelings my attachments elicit.
I’m learning to mediate my internal conflicts.

Our words and time shared
Were intimate, explicit,
And frequently facetious.
But we do live in reality
And must occasionally visit
To be realistic.

But it was real
And in my core, I feel
A tad optimistic;
At least better prepared.
I know it’s not fair
To compare
You and someone else who
Has never been there,
But I am unaware
Of anyone in your position
Who could make this inquisition
The highlight of my week.
Honest answers are now safe to speak.
Validating then illuminating
My strengths when I feel weak;
Leaves me ruminating
And even though some of it was humiliating,
The entire experience as a process was liberating.
I’ve glimpsed the horizon just a peek
Of living my life void of you.
I’ve been deliberating
And it won’t be debilitating,
But it looks pretty bleak.
I’ll drink that cup of spit every day
Choosing to be with what I’m going through,
Choosing what I say,
What I do,
And how I speak.

You won’t be gone for too long
When I remember a Gub-Gub goes, “Woo!”
And I don’t want to misconstrue
The infinitesimally complex intricacies
Of my internal eternal realities,
But translating the clusterfuck of cognitive dissonance
Into a coherent poignant harmony of resonance
With immediacy
Is sometimes beyond my capabilities
So forgive, please, what you may first dismiss as hyperbole.

So sing for me my wonderful feathered thing
And I will echo your song
With wings once clipped,
And ripped
From the sky.
Not believing,
But knowing,
And going
While perceiving
That I won’t be wrecked if I
Those abandoned parts
In my heart,
Screaming for redeeming;
And the fragmentation acquired to justify
Cruelty, abuse, what happened to me, and why.
By accepting the invitation of an expectation
The invocation of reclamation
Requiring patience and determination.

Yes, I will cry.
I will fall down and lie
In the dirt;
The Earth to which I sprung forth and shall return
And I will give up, resigned.
Relaxing back into letting myself be confined and defined
Until again I remember the spirit inhabiting my heart and mind
Is unequivocally aligned
With the divine
And remind
Myself that I can no longer close my eyes and pretend to be blind;
That this time I’m not leaving any of myself behind
Because I deserve to find
Someone validating and kind,
And refine my understanding of those maligned.

Settling in the ashes of my rage,
Powerless to the rain
Saturating all that remains
Until out of the fertile dust
The heart of a phoenix surged from within my ribcage
As it inevitably must
As I inexplicably trust
The paradoxical reasoning my purpose thrust
An undeniable, fantastical, insurmountable lust
To surrender to and seek
Every nook and cranny for what is possible for a human to feel, observe, Experience, or think.
Inhaling an instant and bleeding ink.

The outside world shrinks
Sensorily quantified
And inspected by eternal eyes.
Immersed in the tragically gorgeous vortex of what it is to be finite.
When darkness becomes light,
When day gives way to night
And what of the exact center of the spectrum?
What has it become?
This, the exquisite inspiration I drink,
What meaning we derive knowing we shan’t exist in a wink.
I can barely remember how who I was operated when we started
A few short months ago and now time to be parted.

The grief comes in waves to which I am unguarded.
Even if it persists for e’er we are departed.
There’s so much potential
Enlightening revelations,
Revealing relative and relevant enlightenment;
Something special
Embraced by the ether
Lost forever
Inflicted by an imposed end.

It may be our predetermined goodbye,
But it is also the stage to which I show
How much better equipped
I am to fly.
I shan’t decry or vilify;
Conceding and deciding to retry,
Because in that choice point, there is freedom.
In that choice point, your divinity has encapsulated personal empowerment-
The power of free will.
That choice point is where the I decides what I AM,
Interdependent of all that ever is;
The nature and meaning behind all that exists.
A microcosm of universal expansion inherent in every relationship.

I am someone who attempts to choose to live with integrity according to my values;
Embracing life and everything implied
As if it were an old, but never forgotten lover:
Fervent and content.
As my metaphorical ruffled and repaired feathers
Ascend Heathers
High into the sky,
Immaculate and weathered,
Recompense drawing nigh.

Let us grieve!
Let us rejoice!
Let us live!
Let us choose!
Let us fly!

For through choice
We are
An I Am
That can never die.

Written 8–16–2018

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A sunset is an ending; imperfect and inevitable. Does it benefit us to attempt to critique the sunset? Does this judgment ever change its trajectory to dive beneath the horizon line? No. Comparing the ending of our relationship to a sunset helped me to release some of my fear around not being able to depend on this relationship anymore. Though its existence is finite and fading, its beauty and influence are still valid in how they guide my path.
I wish I had a clearer image of this, but these are references to important moments to me along my journey within this relationship. From left to right there is a scale from 1 to even- to which I just can’t- the ‘feelings’ spider, Llamas With Hats plushies, “Spit out the hook” along with a large fish hook, a radio that continuously plays disharmonic music, a Raggedy Anne/clown doll, a cup of spit, and a Gub-Gub (pen) that goes, “Woo!”.
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Fun fact: Sometimes I enjoy mixing paint on my skin.
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This was the finished painting with the lighthouse finished to the right side and all the little details on the log to the left. I’ve learned how to better take pictures of the work I do to save and share, but I thought it might still be nice to show how the completed picture worked together. Thank you for reading!

Written by

Writer of poetry, dark fiction, and social commentary; Reading and writing about the human experience.

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