It’s Going To Be Ok

I’ve been thinking about the women who moan in perfect rhythm, but actually feel nothing.

The ones who smile at every passer by, while violently cussing within.

Who have forgotten what brings them joy, and are plodding along relentlessly to an endless perfected two step.

Lately, the thought of friends who are wound up tight in an internal war of shoulding have been resting on my shoulders, reminding me of the heavy soul-destroying burdens of classifying and conditioning.

The queer folk who yell rainbows, while quietly questioning their enoughness.

The gender-free humans who continue to resist, relearn, evolve as the rest of the world shivers confronted by grey answers to questions that they have no authority to demand.

I’ve been wondering how the people gathering ducks and following the yellow brick road of societal expectations really feel.

The ones who carry entire ships through storms, and then scribble hearted longings into their journals once the skies have calmed.

The ones who are receiving gold stars for projects they don’t even remembering signing up for.

Who style their bodies for others, sing songs for the masses, swallow their authentic expression with politeness. All in the hope to feel safe, enough. Feel seen, enough. To matter, enough. To belong, enough.

When I think about these tender beautiful human beings…I also become mesmerised by the potential of their bold unique contributions. The possibilities that lie within their messy unexpressed honesty. The fruits that could ripen within their liberated radiance and humbled strengths. The fire that burns inside their belly ready to ignite revolutions and life-affirming romance. The striking ideas fertilising love-filled opportunities.

I know something about the felt experience of existing too small, while also being aware of the magical delicious alive wisdom within.

A fragile vail between these two ways of being. A baby toe in, and shimmy back out. Breathing in caution, because the stakes when going against the grain are high. And yet to look in a mirror that doesn’t reflect back your true essence, is another kind of threat. A slow, empty, pained, soul suffocation.

I wonder if you wonder about feeling free. What exists in your sweet fantasies…and what stops you in your tracks.

I hold a yearning, a gentle urgency, to whisper scream “Who you are is not a mistake”, “We want more of you!” and “It’s going to be ok”.

Outreached hand, leaning toward honesty. Toward more of you. What will happen when you meet it? Touch it? Allow yourself to breathe all of you in?

I wonder…