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I didn't lose my way, but I went a different direction and, somewhere along the way, I traded my poetry for politics.

It was the right thing to do. I learned a lot, I got better, I adopted compassionate politics, and I was granted the tools required to dismantle the linguistic structures that keep us societally stuck.

The political is narrative. The things we think, feel, and believe all inform how we interact with the world. Enough of us know that "capitalism is bad," and that's a good early step, but it doesn't go far enough to address the reality of that badness. And it can't go far enough, because we still have bills to pay. Meaningfully addressing capitalism is a lot like trying to deconstruct a moving train that you're riding on. It really does make more sense to get out first, but that'll require discomfort. A lot of discomfort that not all of us can justify. Especially those of us who care for other people.

I wrote yesterday that I miss the connections I made here. Thing is, though, I kept most of those connections. The important ones. I lost them along the way, though, but not by moving away from this platform. Everyone left. I don't know who comes back. I do think my version of leaving was, just, so more destructive. I would purge comments, delete DMs, void friend lists. I left in ways that made it harder to come back.

I don't salt the Earth as much anymore, opting instead not to start in the first place. I have an IG where I've never posted anything for instance.

The songs I used to hear are gone. I learned too much about the world, became a better writer, but lost a quality to my creation I'll never get back. Reading old journal entries is fun, actually. And inspiring! Reading the 1 or 2 comments I got is still so encouraging. But I don't wield words the same way anymore.

Most of the time I want to apologize for being bitter, being hurt, for taking it out on people who didn't deserve it. I'm doing the work now to show up, the best that I can, for the love of my life. And we're not even together. And that's fine. It's still beautiful. And wonderful! The goal now, then, would be to realize that love. Or learn to love someone more. Both seem equally impossible, so I'm happy just to hold it. Fostering an ember.

I don't want my poetry back and I miss my music, but I'm going to have to build something better. I know people that loved my writing, said they'd keep reading it. I guess I don't know them, but I remember them.