anchored in light

A lifestyle blog about finding light in every avenue of life

Monday, February 22, 2016

Writing Journal #61

You asked me to carry this rock. The size of my fist and jagged. 
You'd asked others to carry it, but it cut their hands. 
They gave it back.

It cut my hands too.
But I hid my hands in my sleeves 
so you wouldn't see the damage
No one could see, or they'd know about the rock

I swallowed it whole.

Every now and again you'd hand me a pebble
Some small, like a pill
I swallowed them down
Gallons of Sand smoothies
Until I was weighted down to this earth like I was standing on Jupiter

Then the rock was gone

thrown to the masses
like ashes to the sea
a cleansing
what could be cleaner than ash?

but I was empty without it
sand flowing from my fingertips
human hourglass hands

the cuts were healed over canyons that only I could feel in the grooves of my skin

They all carried you now,
like the wind

while I sank under the weight of the air





Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments! Also, I had someone tell me the other day that they wished they could ask me what these were about, and I'm here to tell you, YOU CAN ASK! I would be happy to answer. If I don't include what it's about it doesn't mean that you can't know! 



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