undone

I am a wounded being.
I am not often undone but I have the potential to disintegrate at any moment,
with one more drop of anything I perceive as a ‘burden’.
this could be very well the broken lock of my suitcase that finally gives up. you know,
on top of missing a home, feeling rejected by my mother, and longing for a community to live with.
on top of feeling lost amongst disconnected, profit-driven humanity.
sometimes, a word is enough to come undone.

then, I am also a wounded woman. by simply being a woman, I carry a big wound
which has been passed down on to me by my foremothers.
I can try denying it, resisting it, or kick and cry about it, it wouldn’t change the fact for a moment.

and the grief of loss, demise, unfulfilledness,
the grief of what has not come to fruition,
what could have been and did not,
simmers slow and steady under my skin, and sometimes
just sometimes, when the lock of my suitcase gives in,
or someone committed to mirroring me my wound gifts me an “immature rejection”
a big bubble comes to the surface and boils to pop,
or my body gets cranky, and my glands swollen and sore
until I get it, until I see it, until my resistance is broken.
then, when I am finally undone,
free of having to hold everything together.
what a fine moment!