and here i am

taking everything i've done and said and weighing my heart on the scales to see if they match a feather.

this is what it's about in this head of mine. i've come out of the stagnation of winter to find myself reborn, stripped of old dreams,

fantasies

i've lived so much of my life this past year being the faithful concubine of empty landscapes. the feminine ideal of lover, mistress, and mother. i was breathing each day for the idea of union with a soul that only saw me as a hitch-hiker riding shotgun on his way to one-sided actualization.

and i am the only one to blame.

but i am turned phoenix to see the illusion shatter around me. i'm shaking my petals free and realizing that i'm more than the sum of promises and social construction.

i'm finding that my little voice was more than a bit pissed at me for following a path that stifled it at every corner. i couldn't create anything more than a begging for reassurance that i was first wife.

it's a comfortable place to be sometimes.

but even first wives die and leave their legacy for future blushing brides.

they shed their ancestral duties and tear the lotus from its gentle waters for the chance at unfolding something of greater brilliance. they become a part of the changing seasons again of their own volition, with perfect control and fluid passivity.

and that's where i am now. feet no longer bound.

finding my smile again.

immersing my self in purity and embracing my skin in mystery.