I am tired of hiding:
inside fear.
underneath cotton blankets with finite shelters (“snooze” buttons only soothe for so long).
behind dangling dreams hanging from heights, seeming to be unreachable.
within the fruitless toiling of comparing my depth, gifts, and flaws to others’ picturesque snapshots.
for the sake of familiarity, of hoarding unboxed confidence in rooms that suffocate.
until life becomes easy.
because it never will be.
because emergence is sometimes difficult,
often pre-positioned by the rockiness of confronting and learning to embrace my whole self.
