Growth – a poem

A false sense of safety fills me as I peek out from the walls of my imaginary box.

For now, I will lay down in the corner of this space and wrap myself up in my warm comfort blanket.

Then, comes the time, that I will step forth out into the infinite unknown.

My breath will be taken for a minute, for my lungs only know expansion through a well defined space.

The familiar will become foreign and all sense of knowing will dissolve.

I will turn inward, then, to search for answers.

My heart will flutter as it scurries to make sense of what is happening.

I will try to crawl back into my box, but it will not fit and the sight of it will make me sick.

The feel of its cramped walls will make me scream as if it is suffocating me.

I will look around at everyone else in their boxes and feelings of envy will wash through me.

Look at how comfortable they are, sleeping so soundly.

Can I crawl in with you for a minute? Can I escape my new sense of uncertainty?

It feels good for a moment to have an escape and I welcome it.

But, as time passes, I recognize this is not my space, and I must leave in search of my own.

I hang on to something inside of me, a voice, a knowing that has always been there.

I hang on to the sound of unbridled childhood laughter.

I hang on to the sound of the ocean and the vantage point at the top of my favorite mountain.

I hang on to the wisdom of the great elephant and of my dream of the rhythmic river.

I hang on.

I hang on to cherish the mystery and to dance with the unknown.

I ask if the great mystery can be my new home.

I step out into widest deepest parts of myself and I take a deep breath.

I just keep breathing.


I breathed in and out.

My breath an expression of a thousand moments of intimacy exchanged between us.

Of a thousand moments within myself.

A relief passes over me and through me as if letting go…or hanging on.

You draw conclusions from what you see and from what you hear.

Which will make the most impact?

Will it be the silent moments in between words unsaid?

I worry about people’s thoughts of me still. (Sometimes)

Not that they will appear to know me through their first impressions…

but that they will fail to know me through their judgements.

Will we both miss out, then, on this experience like coming to a river and failing to feel the water between our toes?

Will you know my heart?

Will my soul speak to you in the moments that it speaks its truth?

Will my truth ring loudly in your ears?

What do you see beyond my outward manifestation?

Do you see me…Do you see who I am?

I am still here.

A Poem about a Tree: Me

I am me in so many ways.

No one but me to stand and face my challenging days.

But sometimes, I feel like someone new.

A slightly different person or one that merely grew.

At times, I knew how I got here.

With mental muscle and a breathe the path became clear.

I was to stand and face my personal fears.

To stop avoiding and allow for tears.

But, it doesn’t happen overnight.

And  sometimes it feels like a really tough fight.

Sometimes, I feel tired and sore.

But then I remember all those times at the shore.

When I wiggled my feet in the sand,

and I knew which side of this struggle I would land.

Change is a process, that much I know.

Even if I grow impatient, I will maintain my steadfast joyish glow.

For I have seen what happens when a seed becomes a tree,

and grows so much taller than me.

Its roots firmly planted deep in the earthen ground.

It doesn’t fail to bend with grace as the wind makes a boisterous sound.

I am that tree in so many ways.

I return to my roots and I soak in the sun’s rays.

This is how I know my journey is true.

For each and every day I am thankful for the morning dew.