Reaching

It seems like I've been waiting forever..to GO. In everything, there's something that starts a process,and something that ends it. Every time I feel as though that touch of change will come, someone pushes rewind and I have to start all over again from the blue print. Marching in place,at a steady pace..but going nowhere.The place I inhibit can be filled with happiness at times,sadness at others...but what I'd love more than anything is to be able to see what's around the corner...up the street...on the other side of that sky scraper that represents the fears I dare not meet. I long for a guide though, the one that gets our unconditional love even without our permission, the one that has a universal name but has her own rendition, the one who knows who we are better than we do ourselves, the one who served as a vessel when God decided he wanted another piece of him on earth who would have no fear, and now the one who I see within myself when I look in the mirror after all of the layers are removed into the atmosphere.

When she introduced me to this ever changing world, her job was supposed to be my life's tour guide, the example by which I modeled, coveted, cherished, and would always have will to follow...wasn't it supposed to continue?...at least I thought so. My hand is still reaching out waiting to meet its wise replica, but all I'm seeming to get is the feeling that I was"left hanging" with the sign saying "Someone will get ya". Left hanging....left hanging....to just walk alone. In taking first steps, a child is dependent on the trust that their hands will not be let free until they have balance, stability...confidence to stand alone...right? What happens when it's the opposite way?...You stand alone..assume you have balance...assume you have stability..but you're never really sure and every single stride is a fight. You take those steps alone....but you know that if you were to suddenly lose what you had to accomplish on your own, that the fall is only aided by the emotions that are already tainted with uncertainty. Those tainted emotions soon wear the MASK of strength, confidence, balance...and create an "image" of what one should have been if things were....different.

All I long for is that our understandings meet in the middle, at the centerpiece of my heart's dinner table....and to hold on so tight that no force can have the power to pull them apart like a riddle. Knowing that it is feasible by the grace of my never ending faith, I've been doing my part for a pair of decades plus one, but my other half just seems to always miss her turn in this game and continuosly takes the option to run. She knows the order...it remains constant and hasn't changed against the test of time, but as her turn approaches and calls for action she has no words for satisfaction and takes on the livelyhood of a mime.

 Everything goes on a never ending pause and when it resumes it's someone elses turn, giving their all of what they see missing but never being able to fill the space that's reserved for the one who started my life from merely kissing. Her piece stands still on the board, at attention as if ready for war, when really it's just a cover up for a life where more than a heart and favorite teddy bear were tore. The pain that she bottled up served as my feeding tube, as she inadverently nourished me with all of what she thought she'd left behind and never have to tell me, stunting my growth with the epitome of a hassle that she failed to see. Now eating on my own, that first feeding became part of my make up, hiding all the scars and blemishes she had plus mine so I intentionally lay on the foundation to make sure it cakes up. Trying to find a resolve is like literally looking for a needle in a hay stack, because all I get in return for that search is more pain and a bumpier road to get back.

 Playing a game of tug and war with the authorities in blue on earth, for who I see as the reason I'm here but to them she's nothing more than filth and dirt. Countless attempts to speak reason into a mind so overcome with the ways of the world and a boat load of bad habits due to crime, I'd do better talking to a cage full of animals because at least after some time they notice sincerity in your voice and are willing to give some attention even if sublime. As the ticks and the tocks lay sound to the moving father of time, I stay standing with a head held high even though what I carry exceeds the weight that the doctor said was mine. Until her turn approaches again, I'll pray that he delivers my message in any way that he can and that she's finally willing to meet my waiting hands in the middle so that we both win....I'm ready to move.


Thanks for reading,
Sharontina