Why does the light do this to me? why does it come in gold and dusty over the fields and pry my ribs apart like it has somewhere to be inside my chest why does rain on a tin camper roof make me want to call everyone I have ever loved and say do you see it? do you understand? do you know how unbearable it is to be given so much ordinary beauty and still have to make dinner after? there is an owl somewhere in the trees or maybe I am making that up because being alone would mean no other soul gets to witness this earthbound magic either way I am sitting here with my tea cooling in my arms and the meadow is being kissed by rain and the whole world has gone soft in that hot summer haze and I do not know how to survive being this grateful that the world is not something I have to earn or explain or turn into a poem beautiful enough for someone else to believe me it is only rain it is only light it is only me sitting there in tears somehow maybe that is the agony not that beauty hurts but that it proves I still want to stay.
I often write about how much I love the ordinary things in life. That they make me feel grateful for always pushing past the obstacles I thought would be the death of me. That when I made it to my 18th birthday I didn’t quite understand what to do since I didn’t think I would get that far. That when I left my abuser suddenly fall was brighter and the rain was music and the world was alive again. I write about the hard things so others can cross that bridge and enjoy the living with me.
This post was inspired by one of the prompts dropped into The Muse Jar by Burtman. Thank you so much for the support!
The Muse Jar, a project where people submit something—a word, memory, smell, anything—and I randomly pick some to write a poem about.
If you would like to learn more about The Muse Jar, you can see the post below.
If you would like to become a muse, you can submit here.
Ooof I love this 🩷