verse: again

Hey, how does that Dr. Seuss poem go? (Dr. Seuss’ lines are noted in quotation marks)

“Oh the places you’ll—”
Not ever make it to,
Not ever arrive at,
Not ever make the time for…
Oh the friends you will lose,
There are tears to be wept,
And promises suspended
On a desire to be kept.
Oh the people you’ll disappoint,
The minds you’ll miss to face,
Kisses you’ll never land,
And the pains you’ll handle with grace...
Oh, the hands you’ll never hold
And the ones you must let go of—
The aches of this world will weigh
Heavy on your weary shoulders, and
There are pillows to be drenched;
Words swallowed, jaws to be clenched;
And trust in the times when you 
Will want for nothing more than 
For all of it to end.
But, still—
You will show up, again and again.
Persistent, determined to do it all over 
and better again,
Because YOU are indeed the one who
Decides where to go.
So, when the dust settles,
And the sun sets, 
And the moon shines through the clouds,
And invites you to look up and dream, again,
You will be arrested in the suspense
Of a future that is entirely yours 
To draft, for yourself.
So, do you wish to go forth, 
continue in this path?
To the never ending stories 
you repeat, and repent?
“Do you wish to turn left or right, 
Or right and three quarters, 
or maybe
Not quite?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find...”
For chronic overthinkers to make up their mind…
But, one day—
You will.
And what IF you decide,
To choose, instead of pain, 
for you to… thrive?
Yes, the world will press itself against 
Your heart and press it hard,
It will. It can, so it would, 
As it could, but you will keep 
Holding your heart on your sleeve
As you invite the world in 
And this—
Is the mark of a true hero.
Your own hero’s journey.
Decide:
to begin.
Dare to show up,
Again,
And again.
Learn to love yourself 
in and through the process,
For life is worth living,
And you are worth witnessing,
My friend.

---

A note on this piece:

The evening I wrote this poem marked one of the hardest evenings of my recent years. Grief, loss, and all the insecurities of being that come to surface in its rise had me gripped by my will to keep showing up to life (it just so happened that it was the Suicide-Prevention week). I was about to fall asleep with a deep sort of heartache, and suddenly, just before slumber took over and numbed me over… I jolted up, grabbed my phone and jotted this poem down on my Notes app in a single breath. A few days later, I scroll through the app and saw this new poem I hadn’t read back to myself yet, hadn’t really “introduced” myself to. I experience a sort of writer’s amnesia—if that’s even a thing—where I forget the words that leave the tips of my hands the moment they fly off and onto the page. Coming back to the word is always a ritual of getting to know it once again, from a perspective of a new self, formed in the in-between of the growth experienced since it’s cognitive understanding and release.

I started reading it back to myself, and pushed through a river of tears as every line got stuck in my throat on its way out. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, the joy of a letter written from a recent-past self who had the words to describe what it means to have been survived, and the recognition of the facts that there is more to life than giving myself permission to just stay afloat. It is the recognition of the path, unconventional as it were, that has always been true to this strange calling… to keep showing up, to keep surrendering into the flow, and to love so fiercely that anything and everything else becomes ephemeral in nature, and it all shall pass.

I felt witnessed, in such a strange, familiar and strangely familiar way, by my self—and it was enough.

Dashni,
Bubamarrë 🐞