Untangled.

Do you ever think about your mother’s name? What she is when she’s not your mother? What she’s not because she is your mother?

Do you ever sit next to your father without thinking about YOUR time being wasted or YOUR projects being delayed?

Do you ever realize that you’ve been wrapping yourself around yourself until you ended up like a skeleton of tight knots with no one around to help you get untangled?

And still, you complain
And still you feel empty and ugly because you haven’t seen yourself for the first time in a while…

Your eyes too tired
Your consciousness too clouded..

But them
All of them
They’re seeing you for the first time and

God, what a gracious creature’ they think of you
Your words
Your gait
Your accent

And you want to reach out…be there…
But you’re chasing your tail still, 
turning in circles still,
fancying holding a helping hand
but never quite doing so.

“My palms too sweaty,
my mind’s too vacant, 
my soul’s too troubled” you argue, 
escaping.

My best friend says ‘almost’ is the saddest word
Guess she’s right
It’s a sad sad world,
But you, you’re a survivor dear,

a fighter dear .

Settling for fear and the average is not what you were brought up to do, to be.

So until when my dear, until when will you keep restraining your head from ceasing its thirst of the participating and the contributing and the letting go and the untangling?

If not now, when?

When will you let the world be finally graced by the lands of magic potions you’ve been cultivating?

Rise Brighter Sunshines *.*