Poem to the Unknown

I witnessed, I felt
absolutely everything, and
nothing.
How strange it is, to be left so hard
in an attempt to remain soft.
A year of deconstructing, re-imagining,
rebuilding and finding again the purpose of
this person.
As with the unfinished painting that sits
on an easel, and its painter who has receded to
the back wall, this is, and continues to be,
a work in progress.

---

A note to my 33-year-old self:

It was a year of broken lines.
Yet, you managed. 
You connected the breaks, and
you repurposed them.
You are more courageous than you
allow yourself to believe, more fearless than you let on, and
infinitely stronger than the demons that enslave your mind.
You are capable of love.
And you deserve love.
Happy 34th.

-OH