The Skin That No Longer Fits

Between the night and the rising sun
I tried to exist—
singing sorrows, riding my pain.
Thought I’d surrendered
the longing for excess.
And yet,
I still live in my own cage.

In the tenor of the night,
when my inhibitions are asleep,
and my censor doesn’t bother me—
a whisper heightens
tucked-away truths,
lingering in my core:

“Constant change—
That's the name of this game.
Step out of the way.
Stop living mind and live Life.
Release the grip,
The tighter it is, the further you shift.
Clinging to what’s meant to be gone
stops the flow of the soul.

Nurture with patience and care
the flower of change.
—Growth—
Water it. It’ll bloom when it’s ready.
Show up for what’s meant to be—
the inevitable fate.
Not always pretty,
always real.”

I forget—
when I see the sun once again,
and I kiss her—
the man I used to be
Will cease to exist.
Then, ripened like fruit,
nature will take me,
kill me,
and my dreams—still not in bloom—
will become seed for the next thing, Rebirth.