there are times when everything builds up so fast. nothing will take its own shape. everything is rigid and painful. gathering the will to read a book or write a poem or sleep or breathe or walk or cry or reach out seems impossible. it becomes too much. it comes from no where. though it is one of the most terrifying states,it does not gain a response. it gains my complete inability to respond.
me as mass, a vast expansion of nothingness, full of lazy confusion and inability. inability to perceive. inability to cope. inability to feel. inability to breathe. truly.
as i lie spiritually motionless, a friend claps her hands around my senses and giggles to her beat. as suddenly as I was barred, those sharp reverberating sparks break through layers of inability as if it were as easy as popping a bubble, and then she points in me at my illuminated seed of possibility.
i let life take its form, allowing its abundance to pull me up. i stand. shaky, but able. breathing, i bless those children's cubbies with a a heart full of sincerity and longing.