Ebb and Flow

Sometimes I find myself in a closed room sipping on sugar cubes of my past. I keep taking from the same bowl, these perfect little fresh six sided sweets.
I feel the sides, I take the angles and I let dissolve and I let absorb.
Again
and again.

Like with too much of anything, my insides will begin to cringe and unfold their exasperation and disapproval.

Every once in awhile, I step inside this place where I roll in the mud of my past. I let myself feel awful for my decisions. I pull in blame and frustration and I coat the whole room in these colours. I am angry and I am determined. I can’t do anything but eat the sweets that turn so sour, to crawl into cave where all I do is feel bad and wonder how I could have messed up so terribly.

Deep down I know. I truly do know. I had to do my past the way that I did so that I could reach where I have. I do align myself with motivation and self awareness, help and understanding, yet these spaces of time come to me strong every so often. I don’t remember ever really pushing them away, but at least now I know that I have the ability to climb out. That in another day or four, I’ll be positive and upbeat again.
I’ll soak in my sweet sweet truth of my life; everything from my perspective to the actual. I’ll make myself sick with consumption of my frustration and feeling of stuck.
When I’m done doing that, I’ll lay in sun and let myself soak that. I’ll let myself be sick on content and the ever always, ebb and flow of life.

 

 

They Are Back There

My parents are back in the place I lived in for five years.

Just for a vacation.
Five years of my teaching and drinking and having child and marriage and being and learning the living.
They are in the midst, my mothers skirts brushing at the strokes of my history. My fathers golf swing smothering the memories and moments of mine.

It is strange. They to be meeting with my ex husband. For him to give them a box and for him to give them papers.

It all feels strange. And unreal.
Is this my life or anothers.