I am not an untended house.
Not a place of dreams that will sit and wither.
Not something for later. Or one day.
I am not a project.
Not a vision for solace within completions.
Not a maybe.
I am not without courage nor am I unbreakable.
Not an experiment or a possibility.
Not a supposed to.
I am not a story.
Not a rerun of a tale that was once.
Not a participant in a narrative written that was meant to be edited.
I am not the collapse.
Not the tissues that are dehydrated.
Not the valves that struggle to pump.
I am not without sight and yet I was not able to see.
Not a fool nor unwise.
Not able until I was able.
I am not without grief.
Not a path absent of the holy realm.
Not a journey free from suffering.
I am not without wanting.
Not able to let go nor willing to hold on.
Not without hope but without hoping for a thing.
I am not what isn’t.