Fluid like water in a bay,
the tide comes in and takes the simple mind away.
Left underneath are shells and stone,
cracked open and exposed.
The mucky land is dirty and undesirable.
Can you make something with this?
With mud and clay and shattered bone.
Water rush in and out, make me a new stone.
Jagged in edges, cut and hurting.
What’s such a stone to do but cut the one whose hand it’s holding?
Every eight hours or so, the water fills the tide pools.
And all of the brokenness underneath gets to hide.
With the pull of a magnetic moon, the sea retreats.
Would you give me the space, time, and the grace to
allow myself to be
broken again and again
until I myself set me free
from the pain and uncertainty
from repressed love and insecurity
oozing bits of distrust and unluck
my body is a map of the things
that have happened to me
the state of my mind is the aftermath
of the things I have seen
and my soul is a starlight connection
to pain and freedom
to love and hate
to god and devil
to see and be unseen
all of that, it dwells within.
I cannot reach this greater capacity
until you unearth and crack open the Greater Me.