The way (poems about love and loss)

Stick leg

I feel like I'm walking on stick legs.

Each step is torture.

I'm constantly worried of breaking down and toppling over.

And of breaking a leg and eventually my face.

It saddens to think that I can't dance with stick legs.

I can't run a marathon with stick legs.

I can't be powerful.

But maybe I'll gain balance after practice.

And the stick legs can be hardened instead of burned.

And maybe it will turn out okay.

Maybe.

It isn't so bad to have stick legs.