The weight of widowhood is vast and ever expansive.
Much like my own evolution.
I was speaking with a friend tonight about purgatory.
How the very root of the word is to purge.
What is it that I am purging?
My semblance of self?
My very essence?
They say that you have to completely demolish to have area to create.
I have been lost for so long I don’t believe I would know if and when I did finally find what I am looking for.
I feel like I am always shedding a skin over and over.
Like Madonna or T. Swizzle.
How many times can I continue this process before I become too tired?
I wonder often what normal people think about.
Then again what is normal?
I have yet to meet one “normal” person.
I mean I have met many people who seem normal until you get to know them.
Finding out that we each have our own path to endure is comforting.
Still I feel the pressure of society urging us all to stay within our chosen box.
Do not detour!
Why do I feel such guilt being exactly who I am.
My authentic self.
Whether it’s a mess or not, I do not turn from it.
And yet I do as I sit paralyze by judgment.
Paralyzed by fear.
That I’ll never belong.
I’ll never find peace.
That my journey will be for nothing.