codependency: he didn't make
you crazy,
it was your own crazy lying dormant,
a seed unfurling into your own
twisted thicket.
it was when you stole stallions from
gathering storms,
pranced around empty arenas to prove,
all this proving
to a council you insisted was
wiser, stronger, kinder, keener,
unaffiliated with emotion,
as if that somehow made them right.
"right" isn't achieved on the first
go-around,
"right" isn't asking people to carry you
so you don't have to stand
on your own two feet.
my thoughts have been a one-track
playlist of:
I feel (insert emotion: sad, restless, afraid, afraid, afraid)
because (insert reason: unraveling connections, a fraying motivation, I have hurricanes in my head)
and that's okay.
(no insertion needed)
people talk of roads to recovery,
and I look forward like
looking up
against a canyon wall, spreading and
rising like the earth is releasing its
breath again,
and when I look back,
I'm reminded why this isn't running away,
it is running towards;
this isn't a march,
it is a daily walk;
this isn't forever,
it is only a moment.
YOU ARE READING
Moving On
Poetrya collection of poetry about moving on, relationships, self growth, and emotions. "sixteen is learning you are better than you know, you are more beautiful than you know, it is picking up the pen and writing your own definitions."
