I’m drawn into a tightening circle of emotion, where intensity starts to sound like truth, and the storm inside me feels like permission.
I’m drawn into a tightening circle of emotion, I admit I’ve defended my outbursts as “just how I feel,” then felt embarrassed later when the feeling passed where I could finally see myself clearly,
I’m drawn into a tightening circle of emotion, confessing there’s a part of me that lets the intensity speak loudly because it makes my burden feel seen, even when it doesn’t actually help me heal,
I’m drawn into a tightening circle of emotion, is this reaction alleviating any internal turmoil, or is it merely a reflection of my overwhelming state at that very moment,
I’m drawn into a tightening circle of emotion, and I learn to stand still inside it, waiting for the heat to soften before I speak…
I ask what it fixes, seeing how I amplify my suffering, hoping intensity alone will bring relief,
I ask what it fixes, I confess that I’ve shed tears, raged, and panicked, convinced that the intensity itself could obliterate the regret, even though it usually leaves me more too drained,
I ask what it fixes, I confess I sometimes use the meltdown to avoid the quiet work of repair, because repair asks for patience and the courage to admit I was wrong,
I ask what it fixes, is this making me feel better or just amplifying my hurt until it echoes off every wall, mistaking the size of the reaction for the depth of the healing,
I ask what it fixes, I choose the smaller response and keep my dignity intact, resisting the urge to inflate my pain just to feel justified, allowing restraint to be my quiet strength instead of another loud attempt to prove I was hurt…
I want to practice intentional simplicity, I notice how my mind wants to add more words when I’m unsure, hoping that thorough explanation will shield me from being misread, while forgetting that clear feelings spoken once can be enough,
I want to practice intentional simplicity, I admit I’ve hidden behind details before, stacking them up until even I can’t find the real point I was trying to express,
I want to practice intentional simplicity, I confess there’s fear in simplicity, because simple means exposed, and exposed means people might actually see me,
I want to practice intentional simplicity, will I allow my words to be direct and unguarded, even if they cannot hide my vulnerability behind complexity,
I want to practice intentional simplicity, I cut the clutter and let the truth remain simple and steady, believing that what is solid does not need layers to prove its weight…
I cut with clear eyes, I notice how I keep extra layers to prove I struggled for it, even though true strength sometimes requires letting go of what I labored over most…
I cut with clear eyes, I admit I’ve mistaken “more” for “better,” then realized the piece feels cluttered and breathless, like it is trying too hard to prove itself instead of simply being strong,
I cut with clear eyes, I confess it hurts to delete what I made, because part of me still believes that keeping everything is safer than trusting the process of refinement,
I cut with clear eyes, is this detail earning its place in the structure, or quietly pulling focus away from the one truth that should be standing at the center,
I cut with clear eyes, I keep what I love and refine it without mercy, believing that care and rigor are not opposites but partners in mastery…
Watchwords:
Extreme emotion becomes a permission slip,
Is this reaction easing anything inside me,
I use the meltdown to avoid repair,
There’s fear in simplicity, being exposed,
Is this detail earning its place,
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: