A Thankless Act

I contemplate—
in a grateful state—
where to give thanks.

And it’s not long before
little me
is all I can hear and see.

Bursting with glee,
she decrees:

Wendy and Peter Pan,
Neverland,
those who lend a helping hand,
those not afraid
to take a stand.

Pen in hand,
flow-state
is where I land—
filled with child-liked wonder,
and free of fears I’ve shunned her.

A poem—
this poem—

slowly begins to take its form.
Its words are ones of warmth
that lull her,
hug her—
keep her safe from all-the-world’s thunder.

And it’s reading
better than planned.

But in truth,
I’m grateful for it all—
the planned and unplanned.

For every version of me
I’ve met firsthand.

Me when I’m mad,
but what I really am is sad.
Me when I’m glad
that someone tried to understand

rather than write me off
as “bad.”

The ability to feel—
a chance to heal
and give to myself
the gift of being real.

Grateful,

for the voice inside my head—
the one I used to dread.

Oh, we’d go head-to-head.
And if you asked my heart
to tell you the worst part,

it’d say
that there was nowhere to hide.

Hard to believe that nowadays,
that voice is on my side.
So, I’m happy-er inside.

Because grateful is what I am
for the will to survive,
thrive,
and come alive
that it’s instilled in ‘we’.

Today,
it supports the best version of me—
wants for me to get ahead,
does things like remind me when it’s time for bed.

Swoops in on a rope
when I’m short on hope,
when I’m hanging by a thread.

But most of all…

what I’m most grateful for…
is every decision
I can call mine—
those made by me
and me
Alone.

The ones I own.

For to them,
I owe this home—
the home
that is
she.

The only place I’m truly, finally
free.