open open open

Floating out of the old apartment

I sat down to untangle a knot inside of my heart this morning. I did this in the same way I guide all of my writing experiences with people who are ready to pour their words forth.

This is the knot I loosened:

I grew a gray stone inside of me.
It’s sitting right next to my conga heart.

They have become roommates
in the apartment of my rib.

Two strangers singing two different songs.

One sings
“Close the gate. Protect yourself. 
Compassion will kill you.”

The other simply repeats 
the same lyric:

“Open open open.”

To my shame
I listen to both at the same time.

I open and slam the door shut all day long.

My God, I’m so tired of listening
to the rock inside of me sing the same drunk ballad.

Especially since I’m the one who gives it a voice.

I can’t wait for the hinges to fall off.
For the stone to roll out.
For my heart to float away.

For “open open open…”

And with my dying breath, as an adult 
who has only wanted to be safe,
I will grab the string of that red beating balloon

and let it carry me straight 
          into the great wide blue.

Photo by Roman on Unsplash

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Come write with me.

I will create a space so open that you will have plenty of space (in-person or virtual) to find your true voice.

If you feel the pull on your storyteller heart: