The Place I return to Myself

When I write, I feel compassion for myself. When I write, I feel love for my inner child, my younger self, and my older self.

My writing is a refuge where I find comfort in.

This is the place where no one judges me.

This is the place I can share anything openly — I can share all my hurts, sadness, and Joy.

This is the place where I celebrate myself, my inner being, my life, and my friendships.

This is the place where I return to myself — my home, my heart, and my soul.

This is the place where I let my imagination go run wild without any fear.

This is the place my soul cries for the deepest desires to come to fruition.

This is the place where everything comes together and sometimes everything falls apart.

This is the place where I truly see myself without any judgment.

This is the place where I love myself and others. This is the place I return to myself.

This is the place I am a small child again who is open to love and play.

This is the place where I can see my life — how far I’ve come.

This is the place of sweetness and bitterness. Sweetness for myself and bitterness about uncertainty. Uncertainty is my teacher and I respect my teacher.

This is the place I return home.

This is the place I receive hugs and affection.

This is the place I feel is desired and I feel being wanted.

This is the place I let my playful energy go play like a small child.

This is the place I release the walls and barriers and let my heart be seen and feel the joy and pain.

This is the place I see light and darkness.

This is the place I return home to myself.

And, this place is not a physical place. This is a place on a piece of paper where I pour my heart with all I have.

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