There is a notion,
That we can flex and bend and change.

We can resituate ourselves to be
Different,
Evolved, adaptable, and malleable.

We can mold into
Different forms,
Strip ourselves down,
Burn our beliefs and conditioning down,
And restructure.

Yes, we can do this.
We can burn it all down
So new infrastructure can take mold.
So new birth can take place.

There are those, much like me,
Who fear the burning down,
Who fight and grip and claw
The burning down.

And there are those who
Bellow breath into it,
Each devastation of former self.

Perhaps, this is the wounding
Though.
Perhaps, what we hold too tightly to,
And offer up to death
So freely is the trauma pattern.

This isn’t for you or I to say.
But you for yourself,
And me for my own texture
Of routing.

Stay the same,
Or keep changing,
Be anything but what I am.

Neither is wrong;
It never was wrong to be
Who we were to begin with.

That love and security
Was bent on us “doing” more of us,
Or less of us.
Showing up more,
Or showing up less.

We all have wounds in parental
Bonding and attachment.
We learn how to get the love
We need to survive.

I learned that staying fixed,
Predictable,
Rigid, and routine was safest.
Maybe you learned that
Changeable motion was
Safer.

But, bent on the same notion,
That love was something we
Weren’t innately born for.

These are trauma patterns.
Sometimes we don’t even see them.
They become safety nets
We forget have held us.

Changing,
Not changing,
Bent on other people’s love.
Or comfort,
Or sense of belonging to love.

The underlying question remains fixed: “Do you love me as I am yet?”

A question toward the outward source
Of love,
Or inward negligence of love.

Keep striving,
Keep changing,
Keep being anything but who you are,
And maybe, we will get a morsel of it.
A bread crumb,
Or perhaps the whole thing,
For just one fleeting moment.

Change,
Or don’t change,
Love,
Or be love.

The you beneath the nature of patterning was always enough.
The you with your nature of patterning is still worth loving,
Even if it doesn’t change,
Even if it does.

Remember,
Remember,
The story of love beneath the you who thought you had to change.

~