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December 9, 2019

If it’s not alright, it’s not the end

I’ve held my hands out, empty to the world
Asking for them to be filled.

Filled of riches, but riches in diamond droplets from perspiring ripened fruit.

I’ve walked around this world asking to be held. For the knight to come on his horse.
For the gentle words to stick and mend and not need to be repeated, for the embrace to be lived in.

I’ve walked around holding out my palms
Thinking that they’re empty. I’ve been In search of a solid filling from something exterior.

Like the innards to baked pastries. I wanted the sweetness, the caramelised sweetness, that has simmered in its own taste for times, longer that my upturned hands know. For sweetness to be handed over.

I’ve walked this earth as if I am hollow, flaky pastry. Dropping parts of myself and not caring enough for the vessel that I am
To pick myself back up. To place my hands on my crumbling edges.

My walls decayed as I trod, hands out and facing skyward. Waiting to be filled with a love as sticky as maple syrup. Strength as sweet as boiled peaches. To be handed my worth with the complimentary tang of lemon.

I’ve been searching to fill myself up with
Ripened fruits, marmalade’s and preserves. Fill my emptiness with all that has been processed. Processed, poured over, boiled, simmered, sweetened and ripened.

My hands outstretched stretching for the work to be done for me. To be handed to me, like a kit in a box, On the shelf accompanied by a step by step list.

In my infancy I’ve wished for my completion. Without wanting to dirty myself with collecting, planting, harvesting and pruning. I held my hands out thinking that they were empty.

Not seeing the budding orchard in my veins. Ive been asking to be shot forward without seeing that I was asking for my end. To be shot forward to completion
To being filled, worked out and perfectly prepared for consumption.

Now I take my hands and I ask them for forgiveness. Forgiveness for holding everything but myself. Forgiveness for harvesting all that was not mine. Forgiveness for not wanting to be exactly where I am.

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