A post shared by Angela Meyer (@budokonangela) on Apr 16, 2018 at 11:20am PDT

I’m not crazy.

Okay, maybe just a little…but I’m fun.

I’m not broken.

I just cry a lot sometimes.

I no longer need a savior,

because I wake up in the morning

to my own alarm.

I brush my own hair and my teeth too.

I make my own coffee and say good morning to silence.

It never smells like bacon anymore,

because no one cooks it for me.

But that’s okay. I’m okay.

 

I ride my bike around the city—

usually with a wet head, and sometimes I forget my helmet.

I fix my own chain when it breaks,

and shake off the ones that cage me in terror.

I wipe my own tears now,

but most days, I just let them flow—

healing rivers down my face,

badges of humanity that I don’t mind sharing with the world.

I call my friends and my mom, and they tell me:

It’s okay. You’re okay.

 

When I wake up in the middle of the night,

I no longer turn over on a hairy chest.

So, I just get up and write.

When the roller coaster creaks slowly to the top,

I look around, and no one is sitting beside me.

So, instead of closing my eyes,

I have to keep them open now,

bracing for a “Texas Giant” fall.

And it’s okay. I’m okay.

 

I lie on the couch without my feet propped up on a sturdy lap.

I turn the TV on and then off, because I never really liked it anyway.

Sometimes I fall asleep, and no one carries me to bed

or wakes me up with forehead kisses.

So, I just get up and walk to bed myself.

And, I wasn’t sure if I could survive these turbulent waters

without a sea captain steering the ship—

but little did I know,

if I just look up,

the stars are a map.

 

Home has always been written

on my fragile bomb of a heart.

The signposts are everywhere,

if we just pay attention.

All the roses have a story to tell, if we just listen…

More than just piercing thorns,

because when they bloom,

the world basks in their simple beauty.

The rhythms inside are the natural order.

 

After the winter, spring follows.

And then we peel our clothes off

to get naked—

jumping into deep waters just because it feels good.

When fall comes, the leaves will always die,

but they make way for barren land,

so we know our resilience

and always rise again.

And so, I’m learning to flow through these tidal waves inside my head.

And somewhere in the distance, I can still hear my coaches voice:

“Hit her in the face with your right hand!”

And I smile with gratitude

for those who believed

before I believed in her.

 

Imbalance some may say, but I say beautiful destruction,

endearing as a tiara of hellfire,

warding off those unworthy to touch.

A storm chaser—

getting close enough to share pictures of magnificent annihilation

right before it obliterates all those in the path.

I pick up my own pieces now, and put puzzles back together.

I thought I wasn’t good at puzzles…

But it’s okay. I’m okay.

 

Crawling is a way forward, and many hands reach out to me.

They tell me I’m strong and that I have to get up,

because leaders are made from the fabric of our most tender selves.

They say “without fear there is no courage,”

and so, I roar.

The army of lions surrounding me

are a deafening ancient freedom call

blasting through fortress walls of right and wrong.

Breaking open boarded hearts,

volcanic eruptions of love.

I look people in the eye now,

so they can see the parts of me that only my protectors knew.

And honestly,

the world really isn’t that scary.

 

So, I’ll stop searching for a hero,

because I can say hello to her every morning.

I can wash her face.

I can put her to bed and tuck her in,

and when loud noises go off

in the darkest hours,

I can cuddle up with her.

And whisper in her ear:

It’s okay. You’re okay.

~

Relephant:

No One is coming to Save Me. {Poem}

How to Be Your Own Hero. {Poem}

~

Author: Angela Meyer
Image: Instagram @budokonangela
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Copy Editor: Nicole Cameron