I’m lost in my mind again. I’m not sure when my wounds began to heal, but I have the scar tissue to prove it. I look up and see everyone smiling back. I wonder what I’ve done right for them and wrong for myself. My body is no temple. It is no safe space to host a human spirit. It is no home. And when air hits my lungs I beg them to release the poison, but it’s never enough.

It’s dangerous acts that break me: smoking cigarettes and wishing to quit. Filling aching bones with the pressure from my mind because carrying is easier than unfolding it all. Slow motions laced in every action, because I cannot startle my sleeping spirit.

I want to give myself grace without judgement, but I can’t keep promises to myself like how I do with everyone else. It feels like chewing on broken glass. Reopening scar tissue to examine the lineage of pain and somehow linking it back to suffering, all along.

Yet, everyone still smiles back.

Maybe my spirit is the most important part of me, after all.

Maybe certain seasons need to unfold before I learn how graciousness starts with giving unto myself.

Maybe I’m just lost in my mind again. -AMT ©️