The Blood & The Bones

struggle.

Some days I am solid, stable. I am blood, bone and belonging. Human and unbroken. One part mine. One part theirs. One part yours.

And some days I feel as if I am no longer tangible. An object that cannot be held. Just sand through fingers.

Still words and ideas. Still rage and lust. But a vagabond of purpose. Merely a thought, an emotion. A stranger amongst all. Once on their lips, now long unspoken. A heavy thing begging to be laid down, a good thing gone rogue.

This is the war inside me. This is what keeps me from settling. What pulls my feet from the dirt. I am good and evil. I am lost and found. Free and bound. I know not how to be all of one or the other.

This is why I come to you and beg you to make me feel something. Something or nothing. Anything that will quiet all the noise. The static. The pull. The struggle. This is why it is so hard for me to stay some days. And so hard to go on others.

And I pray some day, more than anything, to be declared whole and worthy despite this. To be known. To somehow be understood.

the blood
& the bones