Truth of Self

The aftermath of somewhat standing my ground is familiar numbness, not triumph. On the timid verge of valuing my worth, my strength to bask in burning criticism is questionable. Hovering under the radar of backlash dulls my shine. Fear of disappointing others paralyzes my truth. Still, sunshine offers a simple appeal.

Numbness comes easy, too easy, like an empty brown paper bag. To fill with emotion would certainly cause its disintegration freeing me from its nothingness, while simultaneously causing widespread devastation and flooding. Rote juggling blocks my need for a muster seed of faith, giving me a dull sense of control despite the fatigue. Sage and social media wisdom screams for truth of self. How dare I not follow its advice? How dare I do?

My heart is heavy; its inherent luminosity is dim. Only love lifts, lightens, and liberates. The outdated fade-to-black, shutting down, survival mode no longer protects my heart from hurt. The weariness from this chronic suffering now surrenders to love, crumbling the façade, forcing my feelings to be felt, my life to be lived, my light to shine. My lungs allow a deep breath as my heart allows love.