There is a battle in me.
A war raging between
what my mind has been
taught to be true,
and what my soul and body
are fighting to live naturally.
Some days it feels like
sleep washes away
the shore of all of the
ground my mind
has won.
I feel like I'm awake
and my soul is looking for her.
Spanning the space
around me to find
she has never physically
occupied that space,
but somehow she has
always been there.
I let her go.
The connection severed
after perforating it over
weeks and months
of deliberate tracing.
I handled the severing well
telling myself that maybe
if our paths had crossed
long before we had
become so set
in the foundation of Christ
that it might have worked.
Recently I heard a story that
turned this trophy of shiny acceptance
and layered it instantaneously
to a pile of rusty metal.
Two gay Latter-Day Saint women
who loved the Lord
and loved one another.
Courageously and faithfully
they embraced both truths.
This story found its way
to the carved out space
that she once lived in.
Like a sound wave it traveled
with nothing to absorb
the shock of its blow,
and the echo it created
was a shrill cry of a
woman mourning a deep loss.
I wasn’t prepared for it,
but again I feel
the rebound of ground lost.
Again I learn that
my body dredging across
the rough terrain
needs to just sit in this space.
I need to let the echoes
fade all the way out of me
before my journey continues,
and I need to be okay
that this is part of the process.
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