retracing your footprints in the mud
your tracks don’t quite fit in the old
your feet are bigger now
going in a different direction.
at first, you walk over your old prints
stomping all over them
imprinting new tracks over old
they’re almost gone when you realize
you can simply walk beside
like a beautiful pattern,
the sides slightly altering,
shifting at the pressure of the new prints.
this is an image,
a ceramics piece,
not a poem.
the beauty and acceptance of your
past + present juxtaposed
each one complimenting the other.
12 January 2016, journal entry (edited)
my unconscious self is
afraid of everything
falling apart. somehow i started to
believe that fear was the string
needed to hold everything together.
that tension would
keep everything in place. if
i just worried about it enough,
everything would be just
fine & dandy.
i didn’t know that fear needed me to survive,
not the other way around.
i didn’t know that i need change
like i need air.
when I’m older.
I think they didn’t know
that moving through someone else’s ordinary
creates the lens through which I see.
if aging is about growing
this is how I grow:
uprooting what was once cemented
with us and them.
how much you’ve changed
until you go back to a place
you once called home
that we wait till goodbyes to spend time together
to celebrate what is between us
only in leaving
you’ll just hate being the mediocre version of yourself. and through that, you’ll find the courage and bravery and north star to be your best self.
and then you’ll walk into the next moment, and have to do it all over again.
I had hoped for a slow unraveling
but sometimes things and strings
get caught –
and there is no more slow,
But we continue to knit and reknit,
to find the piece that fits.
Not all clothes were made for us,
these imperfect people, non-manufactured.
Sometimes a tribe will find you,
Sometimes you will have to go searching.