titled: 3 things

Rainy days inspire me. Ya know when you hadn’t realized you weren’t fully awake until one moment your heart feels like it’s beating exactly how it should be and your feet feel perfectly in place right where they are and then your brain is like…. oh. All these days we’ve been looking through parchment paper trying to see through and this… this. This moment, this one thing, is all we needed to muster up the courage to crumple the parchment and toss it aside. It feels like that thing thats been suffocating my eyes for so long is beginning to disintegrate and it is freeing and terrifying all at once and i am having to consistently remind my heart that that is ok. Here are 3 things I’ve written this year just because i want to share them:

1. titled: bitter(l)ess••

I’ve been trying to understand since my first scream out of the womb.

I’ve been trying to be enough since the first time i believed i wasn’t.

(i am not bitter. i am not bitter.)

i choose to let bitterness go.

It will do me no good


that i’m


2. titled: the boy whose heart is as big as a watermelon •• sometimes it made it hard for him to


3. titled: trying to vomit a poem = surrender ••

anger and anxiety have filled up so many of my crevices for so long. and my crevices are creaking. they are on the verge of explosion – and explosion means known, and maybe known isn’t as scary as it’s presented itself. Maybe seen doesn’t have to equal fear. Maybe being vulnerable means your insides screaming

until one day

it doesn’t. Until one day it means help*.

(and help means good. means peace*)

and it means relationship with people*

(and people means good. means peace*) (*because help and people have meant anger. fear. anxiety, for so long.) –

vulnerable, vulnerability » one day when this feeling creeps up my stomach and starts banging on my heart i will acknowledge it and say to it “yes – today i am taking visitors, but i am the tour guide. so please, even though you are fierce, be gentle. We will get through this – together.” and then i will raise my hand when i have questions. i will go places and smile at people. i will dance in target and i will sing while putting gas in my car. and i will eat without anxiety coating my stomach and run without counting numbers. “i am not a song writer. i am not a poem writer.” I say this to myself as i write songs. as i write poems. I have held my identity in a choke hold for so long hoping it wasn’t true because i had not felt ready to play the part, but i have come to a small understanding that there is no playing there is just being. there has been a disconnect between my thoughts and my pencil, and i am hoping that if i keep doing this – it will stop feeling so foreign, it will be easier to step into myself. and say “hello. i am taking visitors today. i will not shut myself shut. i am here and that is enough because i have worked to be here. i am worthy of feeling and i am worthy of being worthy.” in the beginning we were trying and now we are here, the end of this small set of letters, and it feels simpler. like trying is no longer my middle name and surrender is the only name left.


Author: Elizabeth B.

Yo! I am Lizzy, lovely to know you. I like to write words.

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