My story goes like this
page after page of self criticism
moments steeped in the doubt build like a fortress waiting
to become rubble
and I tell myself when all walls have fallen
I will be free of this pit of snakes living
in my stomach
they twine around my arms and throat
no more movement
no more breath.
My story continues
flashing back to lessons unlearned
and comparing this moment to that
comparing my life to theirs
and when we go point for point
tit for tat
I can't hold on to the score
and forfeit the game half way thought.
I'm telling a story I hate. A story
I never wanted to come true is
beginning to curl around the
edges of my life.
To kill it I will go back to whenever it was
that I decided that I was unlovable
or difficult
or unworthy.
I will weave a new tale out of the snake skins
that my tormentors leave behind,
a tale of beauty and forgiveness and happiness,
through those translucent unfoldings I will
whisper to myself of the joy
that I am
of the happiness that is hiding right behind
that mound of unease.
So here I go,
walking,
to my happiness
no one can bring me there
no one can walk step by step in line
no matter how they love me.
Let those twisting thoughts lie on
the cold ground
and walk toward warmth.
It is waiting for my open embrace.
