Black ribbon strands tied
tightly around the branches of
barren white birch trees.
Rippling, in the wind, like a
quiet murmur, a whisper.
The flick of the wrist, and into
the frozen ground you go.
I have been here before
And these are the ribbons I tied.
Knowing that one day, I would
find my way back, only by shreds of my
shadows and cloaks leading me, my
hair a dingy, matted, tangled mess.
A pillowcase and a midnight dream,
where the blanket is too thin and too light
to hold my body down into the depths of stillness.
I was alone. No one knew.
No one understood. But then,
I became and in my becoming,
the person I needed to save me
now looks me straight in the eyes,
and I felt the strangeness of
no longer parading inauthentically
about the supposed loss of my youth,
my innocence, my smile, the things that made
YOU happy. Not me. Never me.
YOU ARE READING
TO FAIL SO FLAWLESSLY
PoetryEDITS IN PROGRESS: A prose-poetry chapbook exploring themes of insecurity, doubt, lost fabrics, and what it means to fail so flawlessly.
