Heaving

Weighted energy presses on the folds of my brain, the chambers of my heart, the holes of my soul. Help me lift these burdens of humanity. Do the temptations call me to be something other than what's set out for me? Could this be? If what's meant to be will be, it must be. I'm sure it's scripture, plainly laid out amongst the many lessons. Why else would there be such conflicting contemplation on the contemporary con of feeling good? Feeling warm. Feeling secure. Is it just a hoax? Fraudulent freedoms intertwined in fizz, fruits, and fermentation. 

Sobriety feels good. Sobriety feels warm. Sobriety feels secure. So they say. A familiar experience at some point or another, the serenity of a natural high can be unmatched. Can be, but is not always. This is the hook in my back as I continue to tow these temptations. Weighted energy pulls at me. Working against me. Fueling defiance, confusion, and concern. This can't go on. Flesh, so stressed that it becomes unrecognizable. This can't go on. Exposure of blood, meat, and bone. This can't go on. 

There won't be much left to repair for time heals only what is nurtured with love, understanding, and grace. Damaged insides desire relief. Temples crumble and cry for proper maintenance - to be quenched with the ingredients that once built them as formidable forces. Stand tall. Stay strong. Start over. Release that which trails behind you. Command control. Take back your flesh and tend to the torn wounds. Weighted energy persuades me. Not be an object of fear, but to be the subject of survival. To reclaim my power is to proclaim my worth. This is healing. This is purpose. This is growth. Keep going.