I found the book in my drawer,
Title: the art of understanding yourself.
I wanted to laugh because I wondered when I gave up on it,
On understanding myself.
I buried my dreams in a grave six feet deep,
Covered it with soil, wire and cement so that no one could dig them up.
I don’t know when I stopped chasing my dreams,
Settled for harsh reality, a cruel taskmaster.
My dreams faded and died.
I thought I buried them alone
But along the way, I realized I buried my spirit and courage
To transform the world and myself.
I lost my spirit of boldness and courage, my light.
Surrendered to the dark,
To the disappointment and bitterness that ate at my heart,
Leaving at its centre a broken soul that could not mend itself.
I stand at my dream tombstone and wonder,
Do I have the courage to dig up those rotting dreams from the ground?
To resuscitate my courage and rise from the dead like Lazarus,
Or will I walk on the earth, a zombie, breathing but not living?
A shadow of what I used to be and wanted to be.
I look at the shovel, “the art of understanding yourself”
Wondering, do I have the courage to dig
And discover what lies beneath the grave.

Understanding her.

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