I come from the space between pain and growth
I come from the sharp inhale before a scream;
The desire to fight against odds–
Always pushing the stones ahead of me.
I come from heavy. From deep and from hard.
From the cracks in the sidewalk that flowers emerge from
I come from empty fields in the winter, waiting for spring
I come from the wetness of hope. The need to plant seeds that may never sprout.
I come from movement. Always moving. Standing still is the first step in my self destruction.
I come from sewing up wounds that may never heal, but shimmer in the sunlight.
I come from the shards of my mother’s silence. The stories she spoke in whispers. I come from grandmothers who were half venom and half saccharine.
I come from a father who’s struggles shaped me awkward and bent. Who’s words made me hollow and ready for anything.
I come from possibile outcomes and probably disappointment. But still here, I wait for something better. Something stronger. Something sturdy enough to hold onto in this reality of rushing river. The pull of the current.
I am the ocean. Unpredictable at times. Destructive by nature. Waves that smash and change the landscape in a single rush.
I am the sand; small particles that were once too large to fathom