The moment has come.

Where Becca Waits no longer.

The breath that has been held

like a captive hostage

engulfs the Vital LifeSource

frenetically,

thankfully.

Colors red orange

blue purple

turquoise

spring exuberantly

into her awed smile,

full of first bliss.

The energy crackles

around her,

and finally it

has become clear.

THIS

is

What

ALIVE

means.

Becca wrenches herself free

from what has been

her definition for so long,

leaving Becca Waits

in the shambles of

empty nothing

and

Becca Begins.

"To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." Oscar Wilde

And indeed, it is a thing most often sought but so rarely discovered....

*

I looked all about until my gaze fell across the room

And there, directly in view, my eyes focused on you.

At once, I knew I’d found something hitherto unknown

And yet, inherently real, much like the morning dew.

My mind searched for answers as it began to wonder

If all I’d seen and heard thus far had been for naught

For there, in your eyes so vivid and so green,

I found a profundity of wisdom and thought.

Here was precisely that of which I’d gone in search

Wandering endlessly through each long day and night,

Here was all that I needed to know, breathe, and feel

Herein was a rare knowledge of full force and might.

Amazed and confused, I looked all around yet again

Behind and beside me, and even outside amongst the flowers,

But there was no one save the simple reflection I could see

As deep inside grew an overwhelming and great power.

Yes, ’twas me I discovered in that mirror far across the room,

And suddenly I knew that only when love within is truly found

Will it take root to spread elsewhere in search of another soul;

Only then will it grow to create a depth of feeling most profound.

In sheer amazement and wonder anew on that glorious night

I found that I could, and must, love myself first and evermore

Before the depth of true, divine love would take root in my life

To bestow all for which I longed, and in ways unlike any before.

I was innocent, pure, creative

As a child

I was ignorant, blind, silent

As a child

I am older, knowledgeable, learned

In the present

I am openmind, fearful, preparing

In the present

I will be better, kinder, bolder

As a woman

I will be wiser, mindful, speaker

As a woman

The constant fight inside your own mind

Anxiety

The fear of something that isn’t there

Anxiety

The reminder than you are not like others

Anxiety

The struggling to find yourself amongst the constant thoughts

Anxiety

Trying to remember when reality is when society tells you that your wrong

Anxiety

Fighting to be better for others in fear of being rejected

Anxiety

But pushing people away in fear of being hurt

Rejected

Hiding yourself away so nobody knows who you really are

Anxiety

Looking in the mirror and seeing the monster you have become

Anxiety

It’s a constant struggle that many deal with

Anxiety presents itself in many treacherous ways

The battle in your own mind, exhausting as ever

But still you push on because you have those who rely on you

You put your needs second for the ones that need you

You push your problems in the back of your mind, and try to focus on helping others

You are not alone nor do you need to fight alone

There are those just like you and fight every day

We need to be there for each other just as you are there for others

We need to open up and express the struggle

Anxiety

Not an illness

Not a disease

Not cancer

Not an infection

But in some ways, anxiety can be even more deadly

Anxiety

You fight against an illness and you can beat it

You can battle againt a disease and win

Many battle cancer every day and are applauded when they win

Infections are faught with a healthy body

But anxiety can never be beaten, only weakened. When someone gets better nobody will applaud you, nobody will respect the fight, nobody will even realize it.

Anxiety is a constant battle

Sometimes you are winning the battle and everything seems fine

Sometimes you lose the battle and the world seems to end

But the battle never is won, never over, never quiet.

Anxiety is forever

I've had my face pressed into the mud

the souls of my ancestors

pounding in my blood

when I lifted my up my pride

and replaced it with love

my ancestors watch me from above

I hope they see who I've become

and admire me for my ability

to apologize to someone

when I've done them wrong

when my calling card

was to run

from each and every problem

I want to be the best version of myself

when I see the red of my blood

I hope to climb out of this conundrum

the place where my heart

and this poem become one

Only posting mine as an example:

I won’t always be like this.

Broken and small

like a stepped-on children’s toy,

a Lamborghini

on the side of the road

with a smoking engine,

dead leaves on the ground

in a quiet forest.

I was a dynamic fire starter.

Throwing Molotov cocktails

into city halls and corporate headquarters,

setting fires on the horizon

that filled the sky with orange light,

pushed tidal waves,

fanned monsoon winds,

and charged hearts with electric heat.

I’m going to be a seismic shift.

Fighting the system with words,

moving land with earthquake power,

pushing words through the heart

of the unrelenting city,

writing words on the walls of skulls,

graffiti of minds, hearts, souls,

spilling energy into the world.

And when I do,

you better watch out.

Hearts will be falling like autumn leaves.

Eyes will be opened like headlights on a highway.

Souls will blaze like midnight stars.

The world

better watch out.

I know, I know the best of me.

I just clung to the wrong side.

I hope, I can still undo.

The present I am struggling with.

I can, I can't do it by.

I just got my faith away.

I hope, I can fight myself.

The future I wanna be.

she knew she had to fit the mold

Cinderella's glass slipper wasn't pretty anymore

but filled with responsibilities

taking care for oneself is no more a priority, necessity, and convenient

she had something better- Regret

all was lost the prince's palace was hers but not home

a piece was missing maybe shattered who knows

neither did the loved ones nor she knew

her spirit has left

floating somewhere in the blue skies and green meadows

laughing to her heart aches to stomach flips

knowing she is free and never coming back to her body her home

farewell dear one

you were the fire to burn for

power to reckon with

and I let you go

the loss is grave for mine to bear

I here you whispering old friend

I shall rise- I will rise.

I must rise

with a magnifying glass I search for her in my remains

to rise above all despairs

fight again

regain the lost and rebuilt something magnificent

I wonder if school life was fun

for everyone else?

Looking back on my school days, I can't honestly say that

I experienced the best days of my life back then.

'Cause for the majority of those days, I spent silently sitting almost as though invisible on the school desk in my vacant classroom. No other child present in there but me during my recess and lunch break.

Waiting for someone to playfully come - a friendly approach, a person to come take me by the hand, and say

"It's okay! You can come play with the rest of us and have some fun too!"

I'm an adult now. I don't

blame anyone. I can claim responsibility.

I'm woman enough to say that

I should have spent my childhood days much better than I did. As much as time is irreversible, the same period in time can't be brought back again. I know that and I accept it too, but I'm grateful to God...so grateful that I've finally broken out of my shell. It's like I've been renewed.

Nighttime is inventory

The day's tally of those in my wake

The hopeless and helpless and those who seem not so

But need the hope and the help and possibly me

Slights delivered and blows received

Weave the silk of indiscretion in those I've engaged

The pained and frightened and those who are not

But need relief and succor and maybe me

I hold court nightly on how much I helped

Or hindered or got comfort or otherwise denied it

To those with nothing or those with plenty

Who still needed, yet, probably me

'Sbeen said, "Made in His image and likeness," so

When I think of the accounting I make at night

The arithmetic of the web woven with all my world's spiders

I keep score and own the plusses and minuses

Not what's befallen me or's been suffered from me

Or the wins and losses of seesaw oneupmanship

No, I count the successes in spite of myself

To remain in that image and likeness