There has been an insane amount of transition in my life the last few months. And as autumn is fully settled and my favorite day of the year approaches, I have finally found myself in a place where I can learn to be happy again. But it is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.
When autumn came through and the air got crisp and the deciduous trees began to shed their leaves, I began to shed the pain of everything that had ever come before that had burned me, which is odd, no? And as with the shedding of anything, what is underneath brings so much more promise than the flesh before it but in its beginning stages it is left raw.
So, a poem I have constructed. It is a look at the feeling of being fragile and second guessing after continues burns in the third degree to my psyche and my heart. It is the feeling that trust is just inches from your fingertips even if you are reaching as high as you can on your tip toes. And it is a reminder that it is time to finally just jump for that trust and move towards higher places rather than staying on the ground waiting for the whole thing to fall on your head and concuss your anxiety-ridden ass. Enjoy.
The autumn rain.
I can hear it laughing at my fragility.
Each tiny drop hits the pavement faster and faster until the maniacal laughter grows so thunderous I can no longer hear myself think.
Then there are words that hiss forth like a snake slithering down my wine glass.
“Oh how broken you are, my love.”
And upon this vision, thoughts rush back into my brain so quickly I can not keep up.
Confusion is growing.
I seem to be making myself mental.
Or am I?
My guts churn as they are stabbed and torn by the pointy ends of the posts of the red flags I may or may not be willing into being.
Because the rain is right.
I am fragile.
But I am healing.
And healing always brings the itch that you scratch bloody until your eyes water and the goosebumps raise on your arms like Braille that reads “Caution: Yet Another Woman Piecing Herself Back Together.”
But it is time to stop scratching and picking at the scabs.
It is a time for letting things flow.
Because even if I break a little more I need to know there are worse things than being broken.
It is time to know that I rise to the challenge of always putting myself back together.
The autumn rain roars again and carries the corpses of leaves through the puddles along the curb.
They are flowing, so why can’t I?