Sitting on the precipice of loss and change,
unsure of what comes next,
the end game still in sight
but blurred around the edges by preconception.
Sometimes hanging on for just one more
moment at a time,
Because a day, an hour, a minute is too long to comprehend
the whirlwind of emotions, anticipation, and. Just. All. Of. It.
Other times, more self-assured, assertive, and grounded than ever,
even when sitting in the questions themselves.
The goo inside this shell of a chrysalis has been solidified,
but in breaking out of my shell,
what I thought were butterfly wings have taken a new shape.
Forged by the fires of disillusionment and reclamation
they spread in ways I hadn’t dreamed possible.
Authenticity spills out of my mouth and actions
before I recognize what it is through the veils of the vision to which I clung.
My truth sits heavy in my core
grounding me when I want to take flight,
burning old beliefs and other people’s dreams to the ground.
Change isn’t pretty.
But I’ve never been pretty.
The truth of me has never been pretty.
It is so much more than that.
It is magnificent in all of its stages,
from ember to ash and smoke.
The pretty was the shell of everything that I was expected to be,
but could only attain at the expense of who I was inside.
And when the prettiness fades,
the makeup smears,
from the tears and sweat of the work of survival,
and I no longer serve your expectations of who you wanted me to be,
that my friend, is when I must take flight…
But for now, I beat my wings to let them dry,
I sit with the pain,
I cry with it,
hold its hand,
speak gently to it.
Remind it that it is only a part of me, equal and valid as the rest…
maybe even more so,
because it teaches my heart to be humble
my mind to be open,
my lips and pen to be disciplined,
and my soul to show up
©2021 Del Phoenix-Wilcox