Reordered

When meaning must be rebuilt

Disassembly, pause, and the slow work of reordering what no longer fits; Photo by Davit Margaryan on Unsplash

Morning again—
so many regrets
for all I’ve left
on the floor.

Blankets dampen
my sense of myself,
numbing me down
to my core.

Maybe today
I chase more than comfort.
The lights shine down,
blinding me.

The air so cold.
Tuck in, just for now.
Think through the fog—
mindfully.

I should reach out,
connect with my friends.
Burdens, once shared,
pared in two.

No, that’s not right.
I won’t weigh them down.
Change perspective.
Alter view.

Bed is so warm,
Netflix on repeat,
killing my time
and my mind.

This is not me,
nor all I’ve worked for.
Time now to seek
and to find.

Comfort, so lovely,
tugs me back in.
Surely there’s nothing
wrong with this.

There lies the peril—
I know it too well.
My stagnation.
Must resist.

Good habits formed—
not to abandon.
It’s time to try
once again.

Might be ugly
before it’s pretty.
On my effort,
it depends.

Who I will be
is ever-changing.
Experience
guides my path.

But I can choose
how I will respond,
decide my fate—
aftermath.

So, I start small
and build me in waves.
Day by day, I
push forward.

I’ve not lost all.
I must remember:
my agency
reordered.

Author’s Note:

I’m in a very circuitous mode: every step forward is followed by a strafe to the side and a few steps back. It makes me sometimes feel like giving up, like I’m never going to push through. But I know better. So, up I get. Movement now. Rest after.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

This, too, shall pass. I know it, though it doesn’t usually feel that way. I guess one great thing about having survived, processed, and healed from so much trauma in my past is that I know this terrain of mine pretty well.

Doesn’t make this hurt less or any easier really. But I don’t lose all hope so easily.

Takeaway: even when you lose sight of the path, trust in yourself to find it again. And again. And again.
— Liora

Thanks for reading this poem. If my work here speaks to you and you’d like to support it:
– Buy me a coffee — a small boost for the human behind the words.
– Feed the kitties — cover a day’s meals for the colony I care for; you’ll get Whiskers in the Dark, a mini-zine, as thanks.
– Grab my chapbook — Through the Fire, Vol. I is out now on Amazon, premium print + digital.

Want more? Paid members get voice readings, process notes, behind-the-poem inspiration, and get the full archive.

Lost in the fire? Head to the Home Page