[ “forever I will move like the world that turns beneath me” ]
~ The Avett Brothers
My mother always told me I had an unusual soul, as she watched the tides of my expectations go high and then abruptly splash the shore. She often asked me to BREATHE and let go, count backwards from numbers I cannot fathom, whenever the absurd clouds of darkness hit the board.
So I often sat down and counted ways each day, to quieten my mind, gulp the pain and throw it off the window.
A bowl of stale sniggers crushed my self worth, as they passed through the door, spewed over my sighs and roars. Breathe! I would instruct myself. Let go, the flimsy souls. Close your eyes and let the silence generously outpour.
Then on a second thought, I would ask myself, “will it ever be over?” I don’t know as my mother slyly sewed my anwsers and sighs into “watch it as it goes”
And I? I have always , let her voice emboss the sky, somehow. Her nectar eyelids to draw away the luminous nights of envy and self doubt.
and for some reason, I knew I couldn’t have for this once, let her down.
So of all the things I knew I would face in the apricot dawn, life over death is what I chose at the foot of the bed, that surprised them all.
Life? Yes, life.
Despite being broken, that I have always been, lifeless with no speck of hope indeed, a recreant was something my birthgiver always reminded, she never raised me to be and I owed it all to her…my life, my existence, my everything. In her feet lied my temple and in her mulberry hands, my life.
Hence, leaping and swelling, living and dying, for her, I grasped, the tangerine pill of doomless light, took a needle and sewed, my celestial wounds, upright. Step by step, each day I forced myself to rise, out from the storms , though a little broken from edge but alive.