Every morning I wake up before the sun and wait barefoot on the porch. I was dead and it was supposed to be the last time. But here I am three years from my birth still attached to my memories of the past, waiting to understand. What good reason could this soul that yearns for the embrace of finality have to be back again? Every day I've been back I look at my body; how can it age again, what more must it see? Sometimes I see the flicker of my wrinkled hand attached to me who is a child. None of this makes sense and the heavens are silent. Not a cloud nor a star is willing to speak to me. What did I miss?

I feel insecure in how I exist overall. Like at some point, my puzzle pieces fit right but then one day I undid it, and I haven't been able to put it back together since. Every step feels like a decision, and like I've made the wrong one each time.

Ideally, I could have two left feet and go in every direction at once. I could stay and go at the same time. I could be myself and entirely not at the same time.

When I'm with my dog I feel right. When I'm in dance class I feel right.

I feel wrong when I'm at work. I should be working towards something impactful, and I don't.

I feel wrong when I'm with friends, not always but a lot. I don't feel like I'm there. I'm a vessel to listen and react. My personhood doesn't matter there.

I feel wrong at home because it isn't my home. I can't be.

Maybe, I'm not disorganized internally, maybe I am disconnected from me because there is little avenue for my personhood to come out and explore. I keep waiting for someone to ask me something to make me. Like an invitation? How strange.

Forgive the rambling. This was truly an internal exercise and I thank you for the space.

The car speeds by at 80 mph

The rearview shakes from the pressure of the speakers

This writer screams all the words to the song as loud as possible

Maybe then it won’t catch me- this thing that constantly pulls tears from me

Maybe it will have lost sight of me

Maybe I will have lost sight of it

Sleeping Beauty is dead.

But under the light of the full moon her lovers kiss wills her awake.

Touching lips sends the Prince through the River of Sticks to retrieve his beloved for just a day.

Sometimes, they share an adventure together but most often they sit in the garden and read in silence. So went life for many moons, until the Prince crossed the River of Sticks never to return. Locked in a kiss with his Beauty they slept and died happily ever after.

My soul would like me to say we but I am just of flesh with touches of my souls embrace. I, of flesh, can do but so much outside of what our Earth will let us. I, of electric matter, can think only as far as our star has stretched. But my soul, my soul knows and feels everything as it was birthed.

I, of flesh, know of my soul only because she is so close. But my soul anguishes over how I can forget. How I can forget myself. But I’ve only just been here once what am I forgetting?

I know my dear soul, she had so much hope for me. And now she sits small and dwindling and I cannot shake her awake. Dear Soul, I know I dishonored what we promised when we first balanced on our feet.

Please dear Soul, you can‘t leave me. But she says she must try again and soon we’ll meet.

Every day passes but I haven’t touched the ground

I see you and I hear you

but I haven’t touched the ground

I can see and feel my thoughts

but I haven’t touched the ground

Time passes and floats me around

but my goodness why can’t I touch the ground.