Blood on the rock

I wrote this poem about two months ago. I feel like I have these days where I know what's best for me and feel empowered to embrace it. And then I don't listen to my inner voice. I let the beast that is negative self-talk, insecurities, and naysaying, get in the way. Then before you know it, I find myself laid up with my bullshit, calling it comfort. Looking back, this poem seems like a reminder to stop all that and remain steadfast in listening to my small voice. A voice that sounds like peace and sunflowers.

Leave the blood on the rock and then begin to dream.

Kill the beast and then dream.

Don’t dream of killing the beast.

Leave the blood on the rock.

Don’t drink it. Nor bathe in it.

Or Eat the beast's hearts.

Leave it all to the land.

And then watch your dreams bloom.