Of few things I am certain.
Change is inevitable.
Babies and puppies will always cause some kind of visceral, deep rooted reaction.
You need a night sky, devoid of city lights and full of stars to feel your appropriate size.
Fewer sounds are more calming than a river flowing, rain hitting your rooftop, or a dog snoring nearby.
Nothing tastes as good as when your grandmother made it.
Nothing comforts like the right pair of pajama pants, and
procrastinating cleaning the bathroom always takes longer than actually cleaning it.
Time is finite and infinite. It’s a construct without construction and we know so little in our tiny human brains about what happens, how the universes expand, and where our consciousness ends up in the grand scheme of things that we are little more than specs of stardust in a grand swirling ocean of time and space.
You always discover these things too late: that you’ve loved, that you’ve lost, and that you wished you would have tried harder.
We will always blame ourselves for things we cannot control,
We will always forgive others more often than they probably deserve.
Every love song written is written about you and how you deserve love.
I know that when you start loving yourself, truly, you start asking for what you deserve and
this is how we learn our worth, internally, not externally.
And letters that I write to myself, in the darkest nights of my soul are always the messiest, truest words I ever speak. True for the moment. Even if it is hard and ugly truth.
Writing, from pen to paper, is a line of truth between that infinite, unaware conscious and the swirling cosmos of existence.
So my exercise for you today, dear writer, is not to journal.
It is not to blog, or pound out letters aiming for a word count.
Sit with your breath for a solid five minutes,
just your breath,
let the chaos that you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind with endless tasks, fill the silent spaces between inhalation and exhalation.
When all that’s left, is the ocean pulling in and rushing out
and your weight is heavy against the solid seat of the earth
…write
Write about what is running torrents in your mind.
Write your worries, your fears, your wins and losses.
Write down the set backs and jump starts and the hopes.
Write a love letter to yourself.
Show patience, understanding and care as you would if you were writing to your child or someone you love beyond bounds.
Be kind.
Be honest.
Be true.
Call yourself sweet things, like Love and Darling and Starshine.
Be hopeful.
Then, tuck it away.
Get on with your work, see if the chaos has settled just a bit.
Plough ahead, and check off that to-do list…
Until one day you stumble upon that letter.
And remember…that there is truth in you.
There are words and brilliant ideas, and hope.
And you belong in the world,
That you are loved.
Remember.
Found
when they find me
i will be alone
the questions and headshakes
directed in quizzical depths
to the loam and silt they cannot sort through
no reasoning to be caught
in bucket or screen
when they find me
dressed as animals are
in the skin i was in
the day i roared into the plain
i will shock in cold white
filled with trout breath
and minnow kisses
When they find me
broken shell
battered
lovely in purple and blue
head struck rock
knee scraped branches
lips in shades to make
mountain bluebell envious
they will lament
such wasted splendor
when they find me
the questions of why
i was lost to the brine
a jointer to the self-takers before me
whispers will static the air
of all the ways i failed
and too long loitered in futility
when they find me
they will burn the empty package
while I sneak,
soul-snake in water
down river bends to the sea
never to be found again
This Isn't a Poem for You
So this isn’t a poem for the broken hearted
it is not for those who were left behind
or ghosted
or dumped
or abused
or disregarded
This is a poem for those who watched
as another soul walked away
sat in their silence
was released from another person’s life
faced pain at their hands
or were simply ignored
into nothingness…
You are the warriors of time
you, who have felt the sting
of heart break
and disappointments
you are the carriers of grief
and the bodies made of scars
and you have lived through
every burning cut
and every lonely night
This is not for the soul they broke,
this is for the you that survived.
This is not a sermon from some high tower
that you are stronger for it
that you are braver because of it
that you are a better person
a heart bigger,
with these new and ragged cracks
to let the light in
I will only tell you what I know
You survived.
you packed up your heart and your mind
and you moved on
you accepted their silence
you treated your wounds and closed the door
you started paying attention to yourself
when they no longer did
and that carries weight
self determination
and the ability to move past
the fickle and soft-seated lies,
of a love always perched to flee
the very second things got hard
Your feet remain grounded
and you outlasted
You heart is a seasoned warrior
and it may never let another in
but it doesn’t have space anyway
because in their absence
beyond the echoes of their abuse
the pain of their mistreatment,
you’ve filled your heart
with the unfaltering love
of yourself
they can’t ever move back in
there isn’t room any more.
Sarah Reichert Author 