In moments of anger I feel searing bile rise and burn my throat. I feel tears start as a sting in my nose and release a silent stream that trails shackles of heartache that throb in my mind as thoughts lash aggressively. I want to rail at the injustice of why I would be treated this way, and the rage bubbles like thick phlegm because I know I’ve probably allowed and authorized it. It’s taking for granted the kindness and generosity that are offered.
In moments of disgust I’m often looking in the mirror. I’ve taken responsibility for my anger and I see my pettiness. I see my judgements and preconceived ideas that are clouded in someone else’s perceptions. I hear years of what was said shape my boys into feeling a lie is safer than the truth because they have been taught that what parents feel holds more value than what they feel. They learned my example of being less so I could make someone else more.
In my weakest moments there is fear. There are lies of inadequacy that circle and hound each ounce of security that is normally a solid blanket around me. Cloistered in my comfort zone, the tendrils of failure lace around me quietly in a safe seduction until the air I need is stolen, one breath at a time and unnoticed until I begin panting. I don’t fear the world about me, but the darkness inside of me. It’s the lisping sigmatism of the sibilant hiss of words. Weaknesses surge through shushing motions because yeses are so much easier than no.
In happiness there is peace and contentment. There’s a warmth that feels magical. It bubbles and blooms from within. It feels like warm sunshine and wonder at things that fly whether it’s birds, bees, butterflies or bubbles. It’s alliteration that focuses on the letter B. In my moments of strength, I feel empowered. I feel beautiful and strong and intelligent. I feel graceful and anointed in a balm of favor. I feel the envy of others, although I am happy to share in what I have because we can all be made of amazing. I smile at open stares. It’s a thick soapy lather and rinse of hands in hot water. It’s the luxury of time. It’s purple and royal and duty and honor.
In sadness I feel a melancholy pall that falls on my shoulders and presses in softly, solidly. I reminisce on times of laughter and joy and wonder where I could have done something differently, refusing to believe that change is often for my benefit and the cost is minimal compared to the expense of continuing on a path of destruction. It’s lips stained in red lipstick and rejection because I wear it and walk through it, shaping a new meaning for the past and my present. It’s a prowl of defiance because here is where I find my hunter instincts and play in manipulation. It’s down time and feeling unneeded. I’m unnecessary.
In surprise there are moments that help me stretch who I was into who I am becoming. It is becoming more than I thought I had a right to be. It’s seeing a smile and a perspective that looks better than mine and wanting to share in someone else’s magic and mystery. It’s the flight path of a soaring bird or the silly way their legs flap against tail feathers. It’s an art exhibit that walks through faded history but awakens ancient desires and emotions in a universal ocean of timeless beauty. It’s reality that is better than the expectation.