Writer Between Worlds

belonging is not something you do. 
it is something that is done to you 
as early as your mother's womb 
before it cramps and convulses 
and rips out its own lining to reveal 
breath. 

belonging is not something you chose. 
it is something the not-you chooses 
to surround you with, so your voice, 
screaming, can ricochet back 
from the hearts of others, mellower, 
and be still. 

belonging is not something you build. 
it is something that builds you 
or is built into you, lifelines from here 
to the next safe resting point, 
invisible nets of soft-spoken sorcery 
whispering all around you. 

belonging is a song that the earth sings 
at your birth, and which you can 
never forget: 
this life-long 
longing 
to be.