Obliterate Me

There’s a fine line between growth

and obliteration. 

I find I tread it, 

Often. 

This place where it’s safe to be nothing

And dangerous to be anything other than

What I truly am. 

So I let the weight of the lies

Crush me

Until I’m pulverized 

into nothing 

but the truth. 

I let my bones carve the shape

of angels dancing in the dust

And I breathe in the lingering fragrance of 

the soft death

Of everything I used to be.

With praise 

And celebration.

As a sacrament

As an offering

As a baptism

As a birthing

To all the growth my spirit yearns for. 

Like an acorn growing roots through concrete.

This way,

I become an oak.