LOST

I don't remember where I lost myself

I just remember the feeling of the wilderness

The knowledge to build a cabin

but the lack of tools to chop wood or shelter myself from the breeze

I fell in love with the sway of the branches, these waves taught me the dances and I complimented the leaves

Eventually I learned to live among the trees

Yet still, I don't belong

I can't remember when I lost myself

Maybe it was that 4th of July when the sky lit up and I realized...

It was all just a lie

Or maybe it was that March when she marched down the aisle

I guess I'll never know

I can't remember how I lost myself

It was neither violent nor silently, or more likely, it was a mix of both

Maybe it was a lack of hope, or...

maybe I was too hopeful and the delay chipped away at me until I broke

I stood in the rain, I waded through the flood and I swam toward the coast. I never cursed the clouds I just coped

So I wrote a little letter to myself

Instead of playing house, I'm heading home

Instead of sandcastles on the beach front, instead of hieroglyphs set in stone

Instead of being history and giving up my own

I wrote this to let you know

Maybe you weren't lost

Maybe you've just grown

I didn't really start to find myself until the age of thirty. Even still I wouldn't say that I've completely found myself, but more and more I'm beginning to see myself and truly be myself.

Sometimes it feels like a homecoming. These pieces feel so familiar. The many parts of myself that I've denied for a long time, but I still recognize them. It began with acceptance, to embrace myself, healing and being a safer space. Welcome home.

I find that what I found can't be lost, or more so, there is no return to ignorance. There's no balcony to overlook the disrespect, and there's not enough trunk space for the baggage that I brought.

I've realized that growth comes with change. The disservice I did myself trying by to grow and hold so tightly to recreate the same.

So to be honest with you... I've let go of my story. Once I stopped letting it tell me who I was I began to lean more into who I am. I find that understanding was key. The art of letting go isn't forgetting, it's acknowledgement and release.

I didn't really start to find myself until the age of thirty. I didn't dip out on the world I dipped on me.