My Raw Unscripted Life

You are not retreating; you are weaving a soul,
A circle that’s moving toward making you whole.
It isn’t a flaw or a gear out of place,
It’s the rhythm of healing, a slow, steady grace.

One day you are certain, the path is so clear,
The next you are weary and drowning in fear.
But insight is lightning while the body is slow,
It takes time for the roots of the spirit to grow.
Don’t call it a failure when you’re needing to rest;
It’s just integration, the soul’s quiet test.

You’re toggling between two fires of truth:
The strength of your future, the ache of your youth.
The “I am alive” and the “I’ve had enough”
Are made of the same deep and beautiful stuff.
You’re learning to hold the “and” in your heart,
So the weight of the world doesn’t pull you apart.

The lens of your clarity sees the sharp edge,
But the roots of attachment still cling to the ledge.
That isn’t a weakness; it’s biology’s hand,
The way that we’re wired to reach for the land.
Your clear days are honest, your tired days are true,
Neither one is a lie; they are both part of you.

The volume is up and the numbing has ceased,
The ghost of your longing is finally released.
It’s louder and harder to feel it all now,
But the storm is what teaches the spirit to bow.
You’re not in a loop or a trap of the mind;
You’re refusing to leave any piece of you behind.

It won’t be a battle, a shout, or a roar,
But a quiet departing, a walk through the door.
A slow loss of hunger for things that are small,
Until you don’t need to be certain at all.
The spiral goes upward, the self-trust will stay,
Until you just notice you’ve drifted away.

No dramatic finish, no banners unfurled,
Just a soul that is settled and back in the world.