Tag heart

2 posts

Waxing Eloquent

I have a secret language that I speak inside my head. When I’m feeling brave, I write this way. It’s my own kind of prose, words have a rhythm and sentences flow. Phrases turn and swirl into what I like to call my butterfly language. When I’m honest and I write like this, I feel like it looks weird on paper screen, I’ve only gotten a few good responses when I use this language – I’m afraid it doesn’t make sense. Which is why most of my writing style is more train-of-thought like.
I’ve been introspective lately, and vulnerable – not in a bad way, just….my heart keeps emerging from my chest and wanting to place itself on my sleeve. It’s fluttering about looking for a place to land, leaving me feeling insecure and causing awkward (to me) social hiccups which I, in turn, overcompensate for.

It’s a new stage of me, just like a caterpillar coming out of a cocoon and realizing it’s a butterfly.  The confusion, the vulnerability of feeling so open and exposed, and yet so alive. The first few moments of flying, or attempting to fly probably result in somewhat embarrassing moments – colliding with the earth and bumping into plants, I imagine they feel a little over apologetic too, in this growing stage.
But I realized, as I’ve had a lot of time to think, that this is a good sign. It means I’m evolving, I’m becoming myself and growing. More importantly, I’m growing braver, my masks are coming off and I’m still flying a little awkwardly, still fighting oh so many insecurities that come with exposing myself, my soul coughs and makes messes, but that’s okay.
I am in a vulnerable existence, but one that is very much alive. I will use my prose voice and wax as eloquent as I wish, because…..why not?

internal combustion

I’m afraid that the honest expression of my most vehement feelings against the things that crush my soul will (and do) make other people feel invalidated. I don’t want that to be, but at the same time, I want to be able to express myself. I don’t know if there’s room for both.
I react so violently inside to the entire concept of spawning. I have no room for children in my life or in my heart. I know myself well enough to know that even (and especially) in the case of an accident it would not be a good thing for me, my personality, or my internal life. I would lose it completely and I might hate the child, which wouldn’t be healthy or in anyone’s best interest on the whole. The idea of “creating” a “family” repels and repulses me. And I’ve spent 10 years of my life practically raising other people’s kids. I can’t do it anymore and keep myself and my sanity.
But I don’t want this completely personal sentiment to make people who have kids and have room in their heart for them to feel bad or less valid.