I am learning to unlearn
all of the ways I’ve been failing myself,
depriving my body of the rest it needs and my mind
of the peace it longingly craves.
What does peace mean for a weary mind?
It may be pushing the windows open,
shoving the curtains aside to make room
for the spring breeze. And it could be
all we need is time, blank space to create
something, if only selfishly
and for the sacred frame of mind we gave the name
sanity.
Rest for an aching body is not losing sleep over trivial upsets
nested in the day to day, when we flow
from one place to the next, or drag our feet along
in silent anguish. The dragging, this is how we end up
bloodied
and bruised. Keeping mouths closed and bearing it
is how we end up pulled beneath the current,
tumbling in search for solid ground.
I no longer wish to count the bruises
blooming over my skin and battering
the soft folds of my thoughts.
I want to feel smooth as velvet, like cool water
washing over warm, salty skin in relief.