Natural habitat

It’s one of those rare mornings where it’s raining. I know people flying in and out or visiting probably think “what the hell, I came to Phoenix and it’s not sunny?” But we’re getting a weekend of rain and I couldn’t be more at peace. Tonight we’re having some friends over. I’m making Smoked Chicken Corn Chowder, warming bread and we’ll drink and listen to the uncommon sounds of rain on our roof; the light outside our front door will leak, most likely burn out, but we need the darkness. We need to make happiness that’s not dependent on weather, but laughter, ourselves.
Every place I’ve lived, I’ve tried to think about what I was meant to learn there. Pennsylvania was an opening of the heart. I had to pull my voice out and open. I learned to be heard, but became dependent in the process. Which is understandable. It was scary as shit. Here, I’m learning to be alone, settled in myself, stronger. I’m learning to rely, not a group of people or even Pat, but myself and that idea doesn’t scare me so much anymore. I’m a poet. I’m a loner. But it’s natural habitat. We’re all alone and that statement shouldn’t be seen negatively. No one else can help us fill ourselves. I love and I have loved and still some part of me remains empty, but even that is natural habitat. It’s what drives me to keep my eyes open, sucking the world in, chewing it, spitting it out and in my emptiness I have found so much beauty. Not everything needs to be documented for the world. Not every sunset instagrammed. We should take in the sky, the rain as it was meant to be seen – through our eyes only. The self is still sacred.

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