Liminal Spaces

I've been pondering upon

Liminal spaces,

Those in-between places

That are not quite real

And seem out of sync

With time and tide,

The allies and backdoors

And breezeways that serve

As passage for people

Who are coming and going;

A train station at night

Or towns that exist merely

As respite for travelers

Who rarely stay long

But leave fingerprints and

Impressions that stain,

Ghosts against the grain.

There's a feeling of foreboding in

Deadends and abandoned attics–

You must mind your footing

Lest you fall through the cracks,

Disappear into the Neverwhere,

Forgotten, a dream that fades

At break of dawn.

--.".--

I think maybe I need to

Find myself in one of these

Lost places, in order

To rewrite my story.

Because I'm tired of

The self, the image, the ego,

I'd like to rebuild

From scratch the world

Society provided for me.

Yearning for holy deconstruction,

An unlearning of

Preconceived notions

That no longer serve.

I'm ready to forget

All the rules and walls I've

Set up, surrounded by expectations

And regret. I'm more than

They thought, and I want to

Release the idea of 'enough.'

So, excuse me while I

Step inside this mushroom ring,

Feast on pomegranate,

And surrender my name

To the first fae I meet.