I keep writing bits and pieces, leave a story unfinished, unpolished by man, a woman at her best. I believe this to be a metaphor, and a good one at that. I’m being rewritten at the dome, reconstructed by the bell, become a narrative unfinished at the workings of God, polishing my beauty with grace.

I’ve been casting shadows in the darkness, but dismiss the madness, travel down a meadow-like slope, enter a garden.

I’ve been stepping on cast iron stones in the heat, but never revel in the flames, travel through the California fires, water a forest.

When people ask me how I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, where I’ve been going, the answer is now half the truth instead of a lie.

Work may be work, life may be life, but I’ve been taking on multiple shifts a day, a double a night,  busy, evolving, growing, learning, accepting, loving, gaining, living — being. I’m practicing what’s being preached, I’m changing what’s being buried, I’m loving what’s being bloomed.

I’m beginning to get comfortable in the quiet, being alone with my inner workings and talents of my mind and body, lost in the elements of sanity and it’s solemn peace. While this may be the beginning of a journey well taken, I cannot deny how rough the waters were, and still could be, how windy the storm became.

But the audacity of some people, to continue to come into my life as if they’re worth my time and energy, as if their unsolicited disruption of my peace is their glorious purpose in life. Their teeth lies beneath my skin like sharks and their claws reek of ill intentions and molded trash. Whether they research me, whether they see me or not, they hunt like animals and feed like strays.

Have I not asked enough? Have you not read my words and listen to my pleas? You are a waste of breath,  of my time and space. I will not reside in your sly cracks and perfected façades to make me a fool again, and again and again and again. You are not worthy of me, my love, you are not worthy to love. You had your chance to prove you deserve my light, but you failed like a spider escaping its death, not once, not twice, but three times too much. And although I may benefit you by solidifying your self-worth, you for sure do not benefit me. You lost my respect once you devalued my being, and I refuse to be drawn into your wrath with your constant calls, texts, and messages, begging me to play a role in your pride.

I’m beginning to get comfortable in the quiet, child. So please, leave my body, my heart, and mind alone. Set me free, leave me be.

I’m writing bits and pieces of my life, leave my story unfinished, unpolished by…