Spirit in the Cold
It didn’t come
from the warm embrace of a mother’s love.
Everything that should have been
was replaced with discomfort and uncertainty,
a chaotic confusion that tore apart
every example of love
and left behind an unknown void.
Suffocation.
It didn’t come from a proud father
the one who could have made the difference
but feared the retaliation,
the one who could have brought peace and security.
I went unseen.
I went unknown.
Food and a bed
were the only promises seen through for me.
Being proud of me came with conditions.
Love came with conditions.
It wasn’t until I walked your path
that you saw me,
and even then there was uncertainty
in accepting what I had finally found.
No.
It didn’t come from those things.
It didn’t come from where
you would expect it to.
It came from the cold.
A beautiful snowfall,
a blanket covering everything in white,
and the quiet that came with it.
A forced reflection
that explored the discomfort,
the loneliness,
and eventually led me toward struggle.
Toward the days I worked so hard
I felt as though I couldn’t move,
when my clothing froze into armor
and mimicked the barren ice falling from the sky.
The days exhaustion stretched beyond its limits.
The days I felt proud of myself
for a battle no one saw me fight.
The days I felt myself grow.
The days I could collapse
knowing my body would repair itself stronger.
The days I found something inside myself
something I still search for.
The struggle.
The discomfort.
The battle.
The reflection.
This is where I found
bliss.
