In The Middle 

when you’re in the middle,

not quite where you were running from but still miles away from the land you’ve heard about,

when you’re in the middle,

that’s when standing becomes a little harder and speaking can either work against you, or propel you forward. but more days than not, you take a seat and you say the words forbidden on your tongue,

and while you’re in the middle,

you dance with weariness as the skeletons around you drop one by one and you look down to see your own flesh raw and crying and begging to be cradled and cared for.

in the middle,
the pain of yesterday has healed to a slight bruise but sometimes you find yourself falling on knives you’ve planted yourself or picking at sharp edges that you know you shouldn’t be touching. 

in the middle,

you begin to understand that on those days that the blissful sun seems quite dimmer, the darkened clouds can still roar the name of the angels. 

in the middle, in that place between dirt and concrete,

walking through the muck is good, trudging through the muddy places will get you to the golden paved roads. 

in the middle, 

don’t ever let your heart give out, even when shouting at your limbs becomes routine and you swear you’ve heard death and darkness and frightening tales of failure beckon you to come… home.

in the middle, 

remind those demons that your home isn’t where it used to be.

in the middle,

keep it going. 

one day at a time.


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