She Follows the Birds to Freedom

My Story

"I would love to hear your story."
My story...my story.
I have too many stories to tell,
so which one would you like to hear?
There is the story that you
would expect from me,
the pretty one with the happy ending.
Because the other stories would repel you,
and if not repel then shock.
And even if you take my tragedy
with a straight face
I can be sure that you will never see me
as the same person ever again,
like a memory that will forever be misplaced.
So I'll tell you the pretty, dressed up, pristine and unsullied story,
because you also keep saying I'm beautiful,
and beautiful people have beautiful stories.
Sometimes I see my story like a leaf,
once attached to a mighty tree, now drifting.
By chance you might happens across it and decide to pick it up.
You pick it apart, and in your hand
hold tiny pieces of green,
the remnants of a single piece of foliage
that wandered off
in search of something unseen.
And that is the moment I am terrified of.
I am afraid if I let someone pick me apart
then instead of holding me
they'll let go and scatter my parts
so that there is hope of me coming back.
No hope of the leaf ever
finding its way back to the tree.
For people are far to curious and cruel
at the same time
and it makes them dangerous.
So forgive me if I give you the story that has no thorns on the roses
and no death in the cold.
Because the alternative is a broken leaf
that I strive to keep whole.
SK