Collide

You are not what you have done.

Nor are you the result of what’s been done to you.

You are an angel.

You are not the beer bottles lined up against the wall from the night before.

You are not the empty wrappers in the garbage.

You are not the empty containers left on the kitchen counter.

You wish you could remember before you see it.

The rubble.

But it doesn’t work that way.

The black out begins at the first sip.

It ends after the last bite.

The fog is thick when you open your eyes.

Here comes the shame.

It is heavy.

Your true self is buried underneath what you see in the mirror.

You are not your gray hairs.

You are not your stretch marks.

You are beautiful to everyone, why not yourself?

An invisible string attaches the head to the heart.

Yours has been severed.

When you feel your heart, you over think.

When you think, your heart gets in the way.

You are not your identity crisis.

You are simply awaiting to emerge.

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