Walking Wounded

I preface this poem with this fact: I have been hella struggling this season. I experienced the suicide of a friend, the unexpected passing of a role model and everything else that life has to offer.

This is a newsletter promoting my yoga class, my philosophies and the joy I get from sharing playlists. This platform is a way I can express myself & hopefully spread the message of joy and healing.

Just because this email looks bright & shiny does not mean that’s the truth of my life.

"We are all the walking wounded”. A yoga teacher said this once in a class and it has never left my brain. These words have stuck to me like an angel on my shoulder. When I pass a stranger I smile, when homeless people ask for money I tend to give them what I can. When I see someone angry I try my best not to give into their anger, but understand that they (too) are in pain.

Sometimes my poetry or writings upset people or drive people to think I am quite unhappy myself. I wouldn’t say unhappy, but I am unsettled, confused, misunderstood and frustrated. I do my best to stay sane, to not take life too seriously and to continue to be a better human for this infinite connection called life.

This poem is dedicated to the pain of the collective consciousness and to those I’ve lost this spring and for all the ones your beauty did touch while you were here.

Thank you for that beautiful influence. You are missed.

.

The worst part about life is that it moves so quickly.

Something horrible happens and there are millions of people still smiling, laughing, making love and creating beauty.

You want to tell them you are hurting, you need help, you are in pain.

You don’t want to ruin their fun, their light, their play.

So you suffer in silence.

You let life pass you by.

You decided you will be one of the sad ones and they can live in their happiness bubbles.

They don’t need you.

You question your existence and the point of it all.

You decide there isn’t one.