There’s turmoil, confusion, and rage.

I’m alone in a battle of the self.

Ideals and judgment and falsehood –

they pile up like some dirty old laundry.

Full of secrets and lies.

It tries to release and unfold.

A thread unravels,

spiraling until there’s nothing left.

Just a piece of lint.

Motionless. Lifeless.

In the heat of the moment, when I called for help;

For back up,

I find I’m all alone on my own.

No one will fight this fight unless I do.

I thought my armor was enough.

I failed to notice I’ve already lost.

Sometimes the darkest point is most revealing.

You can’t enter the light if you’re being weighed down

from the shadows of your own soul.

It’s so easy to create the war within

my mind

escapes the reality to play in the mess it’s creating

because it’s too afraid to enter into unknown territory.

It’s trying so hard to form that blanket of comfort;

It doesn’t want to leave,

It doesn’t want to look ahead.

Stuck is worse than in or out.

Stuck is comfort.

But it’s time to loosen the leash around my ankle,

anchored by a former identity

I can never call my own.

Instead I can lift up in love;

To raise the truths and moments of necessary transformation.

I only think of love and continuously am reminded of the pain.

Pain I don’t know how to distinguish.

Pain without a name.

But love is seeking it out.

Relinquish remnants unnecessary.