It’s coming.
The day is coming.
The people say let it go.
Forget about it.
Don’t keep living it.
It’s done.
It’s finished.
I want to pull down the zipper,
step out,
run.
Don’t look back.
Just…
run.
Leave it,
in a heap on the floor.
I won’t.
I won’t touch the zipper.
I have to wear it.
It’s mine to wear.
No one else will wear it.
I have to wear it.
If I drop it to the floor,
it was all for nothing.
Too much of me…
was spent.
It has to be something.
I’m lost.
No one,
can see the moment.
It’s only mine.
I’m standing,
in the middle,
of space,
spinning,
in a circle,
reaching out,
touching nothing.
I am alone.
Air twists,
funnel around me.
I am solid,
in the center,
it doesn’t touch me.
The empty surrounds me.
I’m stuck.
There’s no way,
to walk through it.
No door.
No break in the wall.
I reach out a finger,
I graze it.
It stings.
I can take it.
Deeper.
Put my hand against it.
Electricity up my arm.
It’s familiar.
I stand straighter,
reach further,
arms wide…
the essence catches,
I leave the ground.
Lifted,
charged,
I am strong.
I draw it deeper…
into me.
It has lived here…
before.
I fly.
I’m in the storm.
It tries to throw me.
I won’t be thrown.
My wings are spread,
I ride the tempest.
Feelings drip from my eyes,
I am not overtaken.
I touch my face.
Moisture runs around my finger tip,
I don’t wipe it away.
I let it flow to my mouth.
I taste it.
I savor it.
My air is,
the antidote.
Touch me.
Still…
sometimes,
I reach for the zipper…
I never pull it.
The anniversary of my mom’s death is coming. Legally it’s June 18th, 2015… that’s what her death certificate says. But, I was there… she actually took her last breath at 11:55 pm on June 17th, 2015. As this anniversary approaches, I feel an urgency to figure out how I’m supposed to feel about it. An urgency to figure out what I’m supposed to do with myself on that day… and the days leading up to it. I feel a responsibility to make it matter. I know I could easily ignore it, put it out of my mind. I choose to hold it, look straight at it, to feel it. People face difficult anniversaries every day. This is what it feels like to me…
What does it feel like to you?
You are strong
I like the phrase “Feelings drop from my eyes.” This one had a more poetic feel to it. I liked the explanation at the end.
I like the explanation, as well. It leaves me wanting more of the story… Why is there pain when you remember your mother when she was alive? Was your relationship strained? Why is there so much pain in your words? I want to know all of it! lol
A rose opens and blooms in its own time. You are doing just right. Just bloom in your own time. I’d like to visit with you sometime, have you ask me what you’d like.
Thank you Gwen. I would love to spend some time with you!