I spent my lifetime changing by learning, perfecting, growing past the scars and making meaning even as they were healing. I traced my wounds into mandalas of enlightenment, repeating patterns deeper and tighter.

And then, one push too far, one day of too much, one too many times, and something unwound into bright anger.

This far, and no farther.

And I could take a step, and one more. Anger wasn’t something to carry, it was the refining line of no more. Even as I felt myself lean into dissolving it, the try of stopping it, I stayed in it.

Circling back through the stones I left behind, weaving a flowering labyrinth, finding my way in the quiet storm of a fury that was a fuel that’s didn’t burn me.

Feet that move forward carry a body taller, easier. Anger fed me from the ground up, unpouncing my shoulders and dropping my chin to the wind of my sudden acceptance. Nothing changes, it evolves. And the fire that lit me wasn’t started by someone else’s match. If I could howl I would have, feet slipping easily forward in this leaf patterned dance.

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