Becoming

Amid the soup of my innards,
I am searching for hints
of what I may yet be.

Nothing is familiar
in these runny remains
of a life that no longer exists.

Liquid eyes are blind.
I must trust completely
in the memory of the shine 
of kindly stars.

I can still feel
the edges of me 
wrapped up 
in the strength 
of that remembered fire

and in other things that insist
that my dissolved being is still whole.

Happy and strange words are my home
creating a place for me to make sense of it all—

a place for me to remember myself.
When it is over

the flowers and leaves I’ve always adored
will still be cherished, 
in a new way.

And I will fully know
the sky I was meant to fly in
with no fear of falling.

Photo by Evie S. on Unsplash


Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Equinox. I chose to incorporate the words "Happy and strange words are my home".

33 comments:

  1. Such a great phrase you chose! We wordsmiths are so lucky to have the words to turn to in all sorts of circumstances, to settle into home and address said circumstances. I am sure they can and do help guide us to what we may yet be. Here's to your renewal!

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  2. Wonderful description of what goes on in a chrysalis!

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    1. It's really a fascinating, and kind of horrifying, process!

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  3. Fine work, Rommy. I guess when the works break down we must find another place. I've been there, done that. Even tears from a grown young man. My new resting place was a small apartment with an unlisted number and a lot of bills. Never the latter again, my rule.
    ..
    ..

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    1. I'm glad you found your way to a good place

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  4. Nothing is familiar
    in these runny remains
    of a life that no longer exists.

    I resonate with this. For most of my adult life, I was my work. Then my health started to decline and eventually I got fired. I found other work, but eventually my physical abilities declined too much.

    Just as I was starting to get used to me, more crap gets thrown my way to make me ashamed of what I am again.

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    1. It's so hard to keep going forward in a crap whirlwind. I know that my words have no power to change what is, but I do hope that there will be places in your life where you can find kindness and rest.

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  5. One of the things I love most about words--both writing them and reading them--is that they offer sanctuary for reflection and planning. For this reason, your sixth stanza will stay with me for a very long time. I really love the reminder.

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    1. I've always relied on words to get me through trying times. The words of others to start, then my own. I don't know how I would have made it through this year without those words that created space for me to process things.

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  6. A very profound contemplation on life anacceptance and continuity.
    Happy Wednesday

    Muchđź’–love

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  7. Happy to hear words are your source of hope for your journey to fly!

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  8. It seems so sad, so sad. And yet, the struggle to put it all back together is strong,, and the joy will burst forth and rule.

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    1. It's been a real struggle to write anything that isn't sad for months now. But there are things that still give me joy, and it's wrong to pretend those don't exist too.

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  9. I love this. Beautiful imagery in "soup of your innards". Trying to figure out where certain ingredients fit, what shape to hold...the shape of old or something new altogether?

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    1. Ah, I suppose that remains to be seen. I do hope it's something good.

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  10. An affecting and contemplative poem, Rommy. There's something comforting and powerful in using words to create a place to make sense of it all.

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    1. I don't know where I'd be without the power of words.

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  11. where would we be without words?
    this poem is about life, about turning into a butterfly, yes, even about us and the desire for a better home.

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    1. It can encompass any or all those things. :)

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  12. love the way this poem evolved as it progresses, and very relatable. i've had my ass handed to me so many times, i recognize that "puddle of self" and i recognize the crawling back out and reinvention. very well said, very well written.

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    1. Thanks Phillip. I try to remind myself this is all a normal part of the process.

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  13. Amid the soup of my innards...

    Oh, how our lives change and leave us "mixed up" and unsure ... trusting all will rest in the end and be OK - no matter the journey. Can't help but think of how the "word" is so important... If one reflects in Christianity that the Word has been there from the beginning... and spoke and there was light that is the life of man... powerful however it is applied in your poem.

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    1. Words are filled with so many wonderous possibilities

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  14. "I can still feel
    the edges of me
    wrapped up
    in the strength
    of that remembered fire"

    The blade of a knife is strong when it is tempered by fire and stressed by cooling. This is how life goes sometimes and how we grow.
    These are fine thoughts, Rommy. I'm going to save this to read again after awhile.

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  15. The road we travel, the joys, the pitfalls, the words we speak, embrace, spew ~~ all of it part of the journey. Your poem resonated .. deeply.

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