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Half Baked Poetry - Pt. 6

This is Growth

I've been connecting and disconnecting,

To prove I am alive.

I'm sprouting.

Art isn't the same.

Turbulence. Sweetness. Fingertips brushing through tangled locs.

No need for combs when you only see yourself.

People blur together in Picasso fashion.

Who are you? Why are you here?

Geode cracked: exposed glitter and danger.

Breaking. Black nails scratching my window in a storm.

Tap, tap, tapping to the tune of the rain.

Partial effort into, partial life, this is what growth is.

Utter nonsense becoming clear,

Only when you've reached the precipice.

Singing in the fantastic field of morning glory.


Growing is never easy - being wrapped up in the world feeling as though all eyes are on you yet somehow no one sees the real you. When I began to see myself for more than my mental illness, more than my traumas, more than any outside experience could ever give me... I recognized that I am in fact, whole. I saw beauty and abundance.

Eventually, I recognized my strength, charisma, and charm. Then slowly, my oneness. Being part of something larger than myself is exquisite in infinite possibilities. Maybe, that's why I needed to slow down my consumption of social media. To really see the people behind the images, the humanity behind the likes, and the souls behind the comments.

Living my life as an individual who vibrates as part of the whole, feels like the singing of blue jays and the sway of sunflowers in the breeze.

Beautiful day, isn't it?

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