Contemplation… the worth of a soul

So I wrote this a while back, before the emotional “weight” breakdown, and realized it never made it to the blog.

So I am sharing it now.

——————————-

Whirling
Hazey
Just under the surface
fighting
struggling
dying to get out

restricted
punished
labeled
rejected

damaged
broken
desperate

stitched back together
mended
bursting at the seams
flowing like wind
rustling like leaves
free

Moments in life, define the minutes we will live in thereafter
Unsure, scary, and alone
I weigh myself
judge who I am against those who surround me

Am I enough
Why am I not worthy,
Where does this thought stem from
Grown from
Can I pinpoint the origin?

No, there was time and place where I was weightless
Left to be nothing more than me
no voices in my head questioning the clothes I wear
or the words people hear
Wondering whether I am liked, respected, needed, loved, wanted

There was a time I was content with being

Much like a weight, it drags me down
hinders my growth
spiritually
emotionally
physically
I am stunted like a small plant which receives no light

I am dormant
because I am restricted
closed
unavailable

I have placed a worth on my soul which no one else ever sees
They do not perceive it, it lives only in me
in my mind
in my solitude
in my isolation

Does this worth, or lack there of, define me
consume me
create me

In every sense of those words, YES!

This value I have placed on myself creates my perceptions
my feelings both imagined and real
it judges those around me
because I am less than
it makes me more than

It makes me less me, than I want to be.
it makes me less than I am
it makes me less than I deserve to be

Always less
always more
never just the right size

Oh how this worth of my soul, has dammed me to a box I cannot get out of
a cage
a tomb
a place I have locked deep inside
never to revisit
but here I am letting it pour out of me

Setting this thing holding hostage over my soul, free
letting it have a voice
letting it be shoved into the light
letting it be what it really is

An imagined captor of my being
an imagined creator of my torture
the worth of my soul is nothing but a figment made up to keep me from being exactly who I am in this moment, and it is still defining the moments which have yet to be lived.

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