Coming Undone



       Coming Undone 

      A Poem  by Kirsten Ivatts


                          I am coming undone.

                         This is as it should be,

                  An unravelling of all the threads

                         Given to me by others,

                           Often unwittingly

                  Woven into my tapestry of life.

                         I am coming undone.

                     It began at the edges, fraying,

But now it is grooving a deep seam of emptiness

                                                                                                       As it must,

                                               Uncreating a pattern

                                            That is no longer relevant.

                                        I am coming apart,

                                           My life no longer makes sense,

                                         Too many threadbare holes

                                        The pattern is nowhere to be seen

                                       Just threads disjointed.

                                 I scrape up the heap and bin it.

                           What now?

                             I am nothing.

                         I am a discreated being




                          Not falling.

                           I am the hanged wo-man.

                        I have no where to go

                      No one to be.

                       What excites me?

                         Where is the passion?

                       I don’t know.

                       I am waiting.

                            Yet I am not bereft of thoughts

                              And I am not bereft of hope.

                              I am not stuck in a heavy mire,

                                 I am a light breeze upon the sea.

                               The storm has passed.

                           All is calm.

                         I am waiting

                             For the new me.

                          By Kirsten Ivatts 2016.


Poetry painting the life of a spiritual journey and its prerequisites of the soul before veils are rent. So many are sitting in this space as the knowledge of our highest potential awakens us, yet the initiation into higher consciousness is percolating, growing, forming and transforming as we rotate in our individual chrysalis.

The state of existing between two worlds.