most of my days are spent on the precipice of “low” one wrong move, one misstep and the world darkens
shoulders up, jaw clenched, breath held grasping for every card contained in my back pocket maybe i can find new cards i think.
the stack grows thinner and thinner.
some of my days are spent on the exhalation of “high”
No wrong moves; All good steps My world is bright lights and warm sun on expectant skin Laughter supernova across my face Love and kindness and compassion and home When I am good, I am oh-so-good
If grace is the marriage between the “low” and the “high,” am I the love-child of indecision? or the bastard-child of unacceptance?
In my world, opposites don’t attract. They split. They diverge. Binaries polarize.
I am learning how love-children and bastards live in-between. And, I’ve no home yet.