Swirls of Bittersweet Cognition

Cowering on tiptoes, I stand inspired.

Balanced with complacency, I’m ashamed to be proud.

Consciously pulled toward avoidance, I yearn to create.

Spinning, yet flying, I’m muddied by the purity embedded from within.

Swirling in slow motion, I dare to dance with a destiny I now know I desire.

Carrying the hum of misfortune and the buzzing of promise, true fulfillment lies beyond the static.

Will I, or won’t I? I will. Right?

Behind gritted teeth and chattering fingers, I inch myself toward my truth. With space expanding between my thoughts and feelings, I allow myself to be who I’ve always been.

With each new word and with every minute stride, I step into my own.

I can do this, I remind myself, over and over and over.

I can I can I can I can.

There is no summit, I repeat tirelessly, willing the chasm of self-doubt and trepidation away a little at a time.

There is no summit. There is no summit. There is no summit.

I’m doing this for me. I’m doing this for me. I’m doing this for me.

Coming into my own? Reuniting with my long lost self? Is there not a love story more gratifying than that of one’s bittersweet homecoming?

Willfully ignorant, conveniently in denial — Amanda is now emerging. Artistry long sequestered amidst a siren song, she is me, I am her, and we are here.

Beneath the fear, beyond the noise, that’s where I finally exist with an everlasting poise.

And so I sit with the ambivalence in every keystroke, ironically forced to embrace the gliding of ink onto paper as I fight the urge to stop, stop…stop. It’s almost as satisfying as it is frightening.

Only people who are good enough succeed.

My lack of success must mean I’m not good enough.

No. No. No!

When will it feel safe?

When will the excitement return?

When will the smallest step feel enough?

When will I believe in the worth I know I innately carry?

For today, seven minutes is my victory.

For today, eight minutes is my victory.