Beginning again, again, again

This is a beginning that will be repeated again and again and again.

This is a story that is being retold, the same but new

Beginning is the oldest thing you know how to do

Again, again, again.


As messy and painful as all births are

From bright light at the end of a tunnel where the dark

Becomes a circle of black shrinking into the full stop at the end of a chapter about

to be retold

Beginning again makes me feel so old.


Telling myself again upon waking

The story that is me.

These are my hands

This is my life

These are my choices


Do not forget

Lists of things you regret not already scratching out

Forgetting about the journey forgetting about the chapters already told already survived 

Madness and stars and someone reaching out to tell you

That they know what it feels like to have galaxies like yours burning in their mind


Silly how we say that it’s been a long day,

A long week, a very, very long year as if it’s every more or less as if misfortunes

are the fault of time.

Too much not enough

It begins again and again

And then


We cling to childish things but there’s no shame it that.

Do not put away childish things for the look of it.

Become a child as many times as you need to know what it means to grow.

In Irish ionanálú means inspiration and that something that makes you breathe in.

So write a list of aspirations, dreams and the drawing in of breath.


Breathe in a new beginning, again and again and again.


Athbhlian faoi mhuise agaibh go léir.

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