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PART 1
The Fear Of Leaving Behind The Past
POETRY COLLECTION
Featured Poetry:
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-To grow, sometimes we have to shed old skin-
Poem 1:
Walking Away From
A Toxic Place
Walking Away From A Toxic Place
(Moving On To What's Next)
Walking on anyway because this place wasn’t designed to be your forever.
It wears you down until there’s nothing left;
Then, it moves on to the next.
Leaving you deprived of time, energy, and pieces of you.
Turning over to see the next chapter couldn’t have happened if you didn’t leave where you used to be.
Walking on and leaving behind,
Past anger of old issues.
They mean nothing now.
Remembering, that a shift in life
Doesn’t mean you climb higher than those still where you used to be.
PRIDE isn’t a treasure to hold on to.
Humility is the biggest lesson.
Empathy is a treasure.
Walk on and take with you the lessons
That have been embedded in you
From that tainted place.
Those tough situations strengthened you.
The roughness that occurred from the mishandling of you
Polished you.
You take with you a perspective that changed your life.
How small you may seem in the eyes of others
Has nothing to do with who you truly are.
You now know that
Contrary to popular belief,
There is value in working in the lowliest of places. . .
-The process of "becoming" isn't graceful. It involves doubt, insecurity, and uncertainty.-
Poem 2:
A Star Struggling To Burn
Helpful Hint: Before reading, click poem covers to see its overview/ description.
A Star
STRUGGLING TO BURN
Everytime I close my eyes I see a star that shines so brightly
But that can’t be me because I’m too different
-At least that’s what they keep telling me.
Everytime I close my eyes I see a star that shines so brightly
But that can’t be me because I’m not enough
-At least that’s what they keep telling me.
Everytime I close my eyes I see a star that shines so brightly,
Passionately burning for all to see.
Could that be me?
Could I be the star I see?
No, it couldn’t be me. . .
I could never be. . .
Why?
Because that is what they tell me.
One day. . .
Some day. . .
Is what my hope keeps telling me.
Louder than the “No’s”
Are the words from the beginning of time.
The command God gave “to shine.”
“Let there be light.”
A command I can’t seem to shake.
Even though they say
I’m too different,
Even though they say
I’m not enough,
My soul still echoes
“Let there be light.”
-Doubt can be the most crippling quality we possess.-
Poem 3:
An Angel Scared To Fly
An Angel
SCARED TO FLY
How can I fly if I insist on walking?
How can I touch the sky if I don't make the effort to soar?
“Oh if I had the wings of an eagle…”
I’d still walk
- not because I don’t want to fly.
It’s simply because I find myself constantly choosing to stay grounded.
I have the ability to sing
Yet I only talk.
I have the ability to speak
Yet I remain mute.
I have the ability to reach
Yet I stay put.
So, I conclude that if I had the ability to fly
I’d probably still walk.
This is not to say that one day,
I won’t sing, talk, and reach out.
One day, maybe…
But as for today my efforts haven’t caught enough wind for me to soar.
The excuse for staying grounded so long has
always been
we have legs for a reason too,
right?
-Stepping into our potential means confronting the reality that things will not be the same as they used to be.-
Poem 4:
A Seed Scared Of Becoming
A Seed
SCARED OF BECOMING
Small. Brown. Closed.
A seed, unaware of who she will become when she blossoms.
No longer will she fit in with her peers unless they blossom too.
Scary thought. No longer fitting in.
Sometimes it feels that life would be easier without change
-too bad that’s what it’s all about.
Life without change, growth, and movement resembles death.
A seed. Scared of the process.
Scary thought: being buried alive.
That period of isolation and darkness.
Where it’s just me and the dirt, no one else to lean on.
Small. Brown. Closed.
What will life be like for me once it’s over?
What will I be like after I’ve blossomed?
The scariest thing is that I fear that I will no longer be me.
Small. Brown. Closed.
That’s who I am.
That’s how I met my friends.
That’s how I was born.
It’s who I am.
Small. Brown. Closed.
Is who I’ve always been.
Who am I without it?
Who will I be once I resurface?
