at some point I got so sick and worn thin from aching I started offering it up to my bedroom ceiling
at some point I became so frustrated with the unknowing that I had to start burying my hurt in the soil
there is heaviness to any lesson I have learned and to all the upcoming ones
but with the pain from which I grow, there can be a direction and ultimately, I choose where these feelings go
I have space in my heart for many other things, even at its swollen size
and I'm unsure of who exactly told me I have to store all of that in there
but surely, they lied.
I give that pain up. Whenever I feel it rise. When my throat burns, I offer it to the heavens. I give of myself because there is no room for it. What is healing but being an alchemist and transforming your broken parts into relics you can hold with care?
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