This Life

This life.

Life.

Life. Damn, life is hard, and confusing and beautiful.

I walk into a room filled with angels and I am greeted by a demon embracing my life more fiercely than I ever could grasp.

And it’s got me, curled in its clutch like I’m longing to be held.

I long and I long and I long.

Yet, no matter how it grips my heart it never holds me. Me.

Me. The girl in the room. The one in the corner who refuses to call this life until she is truly living, and loving, and being held in all her bloody grace and holy grit.

Me.

Me. I was never certain that this place was made for me, or if I was made for here, but somehow I search and I cry and I plant my feet in the ground while I claim my home as here.

Here.

Here. In this life. In this love. In this body that I was given and gave away and destroyed and reclaimed. Here.

I am here.

In this life.

Life.

Life. And, damn, this life is hard, and confusing and beautiful.

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