The Blood & The Bones

So much of my writing is a work in progress that I wonder if it was better or more complete in another lifetime like I think I must’ve been

In another lifetime, I know that I am or was beautiful

I am exceptional in so many ways

A better mother, writer, lover, friend

A better human

I know that in some other existence I am much more than I can be here

But I do not know if it is before or after this one or maybe even parallel

I only know that it must be because it was never to be while I am a part of this timeline

I know there I likely don’t wake up thinking about how I cannot give in today, how nourishment is the enemy

how my body is the enemy

how my mind plays tricks on me

I don’t consume myself with thoughts of being better, of a smaller waist, of knees that don’t hurt or a belly that doesn’t ache

I don’t lay in bed and wonder why I fucked up so much, how my failures are stacked like jenga pieces and fear that one day I’ll pull out the wrong one and crumble

In another lifetime, I am whole as is, not searching for completion

My thoughts don’t always take me back to how life would be better if I could just be less of what I am and more of what I see others as

And because I am better, happy, whole and more but less there are pages that are more than half full, that have my name across the bottom signifying that it was good, that it was complete in ways I can’t be here

there are people around me who don’t carry the weight of my failures

I think there I must be superior entirely

healed even

greater

in all the ways I was never strong enough to be here

the blood

& the bones