A Soul's Monologue

I run from this. Sit upright in bed.. summoning the dump, the flood I’d like to sculpt into something safe. Nothing too raw, not too cracked at the seams. Just enough for others to think, wow, how honest.. while I know I’ve held the heaviest pieces back. But today, my soul won’t let the human win. And Alhamdulillah for that. Now tears.. soft, uninvited, slide down my face. Not from sadness. But from deep, whole gratitude to the One who sees beyond this dunya noise.. lets me meet myself in stillness. In silence. I meant to write about what I wouldn’t take as a woman. (Things I have taken as a woman, mind you.) I was going to talk about how underwhelming this world is, how shiny things still somehow fail to gleam. Instead.. I stopped myself from listing facts about me. The words never dress me well enough. Never carry the shape of my being as beautifully as my presence can. Because I am a soul inhabiting this human form, living the exact story written only for me. I talk to myself.. and not in passing. I hold full conversations with the separate selves I’ve come to know. Different voices inside this one inner house. All of them.. me. All of them.. experiencing the same hour, same ache, same wonder.. from different angles at the exact same time. Alhamdulillah, all versions of me are still Muslim. Still bowed inward even when torn outward. Enough of this shit now. Even that.. a kind of praise.