This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

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This is what I’ve learned: if I’m at the edge of my
own capacity … whatever comes next will take my
breath away.

This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

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Has anyone ever released you from the jail you put yourself in?

A word, a phrase, someone daring to say the damn thing out loud? Did your breath catch in the back of your throat, or did your stomach hop and your skin percolate?

Did you see clearly for the first time in a long time, did everything come into focus, did you watch yourself exhale?

Has your heart beat this fast in response to truth, ever before?

Did you know that this is what living could feel like?

Did you know you were allowed even this.

This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

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Nothing fits in my life right now.

My love too big
My family too small

My skin too tight
My intentions too tall

My dreams too wide
My capacity has stalled

Words rushing in
And then none come at all.

This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

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In the right light, I can’t discern water from molten iron

This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

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Today, I’m a lung. In whatever universe that matters – today I can inhale, deeply. Arms wide open, I am taking everything in.

I’m a lung.

You can run.