A hummed string, finely tuned.

A grass blade in a field of strong winds.

A flower blooming in the heart of winter.

A sand grain swept through the wide desert.

A tender hand held in another’s.

A body embraced in a wash of warmth.

A window overlooking a bold and ancient forest.

 

I am but me, drenched in fear and dirt.

 

I wish to be all those things

But alas, I am me, living blindly ashore.

I hear the waves lap the cliffs of my heart

Weathering, eroding, and washing me away.

I am me, cupping water with my hollow hands

Watching it drain from the wells of my eyes.

I am me, singing in empty halls of silence

To the ghosts of my past

Who cheer and clutch at my feet

Refusing to ever let go.

 

And so I stomp.

Stomp on the grass

Stomp on the flowers

Smash at the windows.

Down, down I fall.

What else is there to do but fall?

What else is there but to accept?

What else is there but to give up?

To give up the crying.

To give up the trying.

To give up the dying.

Surrender, surrender to it all.

Whatever may come.