Dream Big

I call out to the night sky.

Please someone can you listen to me.

Peace of mind has been missing you see.

I give thanks for the lessons of this hard patch.

And all the healing it brings.

But to have to be torn down so much to try to build back stronger just seems different to me.

I have put in the hours.

The 10000 hours necessary to learn how to best love her. But i know there’s always more work to do. More to learn. More to grow. And I love every second of it. So bring on the next 10,000 days. And the next set of lessons.

Idk if anyone has the patience for me that I’m trying to practice for others. And is willing to love me the way I love.

But my hands work hard. In everyway. I cook, clean, massage, write, ride, whatever is needed that’s me. Thats what i love. Serving. Easing the burden she carries.

Idk if i’m enough. But hopefully the work of these calloused hands shows. Hopefully the crafts if my labour are hung in the art exhibit of her life. Hopefully these calloused hands see a ring soon. Hopefully the difficulty of the task lessens and the work becomes easier. And my hands dont blister. And my heart gets filled. And i’m loved.

And I’m thankful to the king for his continue’s guidance and lent strength. For the music that saves me. For the voice of the one I love. The cadence and melody she speaks always warms the deepest parts of me. Excites me. Cures me.

Healing is the David from 2013. We shook hands today and stood proud in our progress. Our refusal to digress. Or to accept less. We met up with David from primary school. And told him to come out. It’s okay you don’t have to hide. We won’t be that same old, sad and damaged guy. We accept all and forgive more. We can laugh at ourselves together now.

And not hold onto the pain too dear. And listen and love. Each other. And share experience and memories to complete ourselves. Like my now sharing the self confidence I had never felt before. Healing the younger me’s cores. And me at 18 sharing the fitness tips I need to have whispered to me now. To get back on track. And how it felt to express myself in that way. And the therapy it brought. And now washing dishes to college dropout isn’t so suffocation. Because I can go back and tell that me that there’s a way out. A bright light. A beautiful girl to love. New experiences. And i can listen to my youngest me, and the jot of being outside. And I promise him to walk daily. And i tell him we grow to have conversations with our mother that answer all the confusion questions we had back then. We understand the cycle that had our father throwing fists with cops at the front door. Or caving our brother’s chest in under the clothes line.

And we break them.

What did the mad queen say before her spiral? “I’m not going to stop the wheel, I’m going to break the wheel”

Well I’m not going to just stop the generational curses. i am going to shatter them. And scatter the pieces of them across all the places i go.

And build my own wheel of guidance. And loving her the right way. And loving me all ways. And picking up the pieces across all the places i go.

The challenge and toll I took on in Tanzania to face my inner demons. And to fight. And to be stuck in my mind with no where to go. That strength is one spoke on the wheel i am building.

The sense of self I have to develop now in my loneliest times in Abbotsford, another spoke.

The connection with God I found at black bay this summer. The first discovery of real passion in the Himalayas. The love that Malaysia blessed me with. These are the spokes i build on.

So when i turn into new chapters, me and all my past versions come to conquer. We come at peace. We come with love. Because healing is the king that was broken, by the girl that was breaking, at the hands of the broken man….

P.S. this is a working paper so maybe i’ll update over the next couple days

So quick to goodbye. So quick to discard me. Broken is the me that gave his all.

Unloved and unseen.

My pain is a joke. My place is nowhere. My time is up.

Part 3 coming soon?

PS …

I’m in need.

~Broken is the man by Jorja Smith

And now broken is the human that holds you down. 
And slow is the work to repair him. 
Tbh the work hasn’t started at all.

Broken is the human that supported the girl being broken by the broken man.
The cycle is now sure to continue.
But the human behind the pain refuses to let the demons win though.

Broken feels the human that truly wants to build with the girl that met a broken man.
The human putting in work behind the scenes. 
Constantly being shown he’s not worth the starring role.
Constantly looking past his scarring soul.

Broken is the human now being told he should be patient with not being loved right.
Because the girl met a broken man who feels blameless. 
Now the human that picks you up has to hold your misplaced angers.
Hearing the worst about himself and being shown that he’s to blame yet,
His best efforts are still worse than the man that’s working to break the girl.

Healing is the human trying to love the girl as she’s breaking by the man with ill intent.
The love the human shares with the girl can’t cure it all but he’ll figure it out.
He’ll dig her right out the grave she’s been getting buried in.
But the human’s patience has been running thin.
He’s tired of wearing the mask of “being okay” just to make sure space is still held for him.

I see a wife but no one sees the husband. I try to breathe life but get told i should be okay with receiving nothing. I’m not him.

Aye buh. This karmic backlash is heavy. Whatever i did that was this bad and painful, i will work to make right. This pain is becoming unbearable.

I try to love even when my love is at their lowest. Destroyed. And the destruction is most potent. I try to love the spaces of their being that need to be acknowledge most. That hide away. That run. That disregard me and my feelings. The parts that hurt way too much for way too long. That push me away. And curse at me. And make me more broken. To let them know that every inch of them is perfection. That i have their back, even we i stretch myself too thin and don’t even know if mines still exists.

I am trying to rebuild the ruins of dread into something new, special, and strong. Even when my own foundation is washing away like Bermuda Beaches during a hurricane.

Because it has been a hurricane. And just when the weather looked like it was clearing out the turbulence picks up again. and again. and again. And I’m left to love through my loneliness. Under appreciated and unloveable. Unseen and Unheard. Unhappy and underneath. Under everyone and everything.

I love even though the core of my love is rotting. I give more of myself than I have left. I have extended the last of my struggled breath to make sure that their lungs cans fill with life again. I fight their battles and lose my own. I try but I won’t possibly ever be good enough so I feel so alone.

I want to be sure that when I kiss you with the breath of life that it is tender and sure. Even though all I face is a lack of sureties and unknowns. Abandonment. Refusal. Impatience.

I want to carry you past this. Support you through it. But I’ve been the doormat for so long.

At 3 am I cry out. I pour as many words as I can. Hoping that I can pick my love up. Even when I feel my breath leaving me. I feel excruciating pain in my chest. I think I experienced the physical representation of heartbreak. I felt my chest collapsing in.

I pour. I write. I share the most intimate expressions of the way i love them. The deepest, raw parts of the chambers of my heart. I’m firing on empty yet maybe loving my hardest.

I lose.

But I love all the same. Borrowing breath from a source not of my own. Racking my brain. Why am I not good enough? Not worthy to be loved right? So easy to hurt with no regard? So easily dismissed? Such an easy goodbye?

Take all I have to give. My vessel is bare. My soul is raw. My spirit’s of fear.

I love them. Why can’t …..

Embarassed and hurting.
There’s no one thing in my mind,
That let’s me know that i’m worth it.
the self doubt is enveloping my spirit.
the negativity is all that i’m hearing.
weary minded, 
tell the demons they got me this time.
shake their hands and accept my defeat. 
I sea my soul most days dragging behind my feet. 
I’m not happy waking up each day knowing i have to be me. 

The hand we were dealt,
maybe doesn’t have to be the hand that we play.
let’s call the dealer out,
or at least ask for a few more cards to lay.
I deserve the world,
but my cards tell me i need to wait a few more turns?
how is any of this fair?
self worth’s a hard lesson to learn. 

maybe it’s time for certain cards to burn.