predator or prey?

I don't want to remain hidden

but I also don't want to "be seen".

A discovery.

I guess it's been this way since I can remember.

May this be rooted in my difficulties of facing a life passed on?

Possibly one that ended abruptly and painfully.

Poor girl.

Weep validations for her soul.

So deeply enchanted with panicky escapism.

Just waiting to discover

home.

The trees beckon her in.

A safety net.

The protection of millions of centuries.

Fabric that now is wearing thin.

Why continue to patch what deserves renewal?

through all the love and attention it sought out for you; 

it's "being"--

why pick at a wound as it yearns to heal?

Quit hurting yourself.

Pay attention,

listen.

Love your flaws and actively work through the crunchy parts.

Heart forward.

Bags and totes.

Enough to carry.

Enough to be held.

But if only She could find rebirth in this shell.

Rebirth.

Molting.

The birds sing to me

their ability for flight brings me

right

back

down.

rooted with my sisters and brothers.

I am made of soil.

I am made of dust.

Light pours through the streams

and rivers illuminate the landscape.

Life!

Although-- 

How do you really know

if you are living?

What gives you the idea...

well, It's important to give.

Give presence.

Give honesty.

Give compassion and friendship and honor the bones you've been

given the chance to experience.

Be easier on them.

They carry the load .  

The Soul's Sherpa.

Sun rise and sundown.

Again.

Another chance.

Love them.

Find and honor the gratuity that swaddles you

like a fresh soul come down.

So worthy of being held.

Not yet aware there may be reason to run.

what do you fear they'll find out?

Who is the hunter?

She feels their presence.

Taunting me with fear.

Reject it.

At last it's only now an awareness.

Detach.

It's not yours.

Forever, to be Held.

As the trees weep thank yous,

humbly they stand in

"my pleasure".

Surrounded.

In love. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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