Wildflowers

I live with this hand gripped around my chest.

Just beyond the pep, the excitement and lust for life, lies this energy, dark and menacing, ever present.

I just want to exercise these lungs, inhale and exhale myself free, but the grip is firm.

There is this cloud in my head.

The sun’s rays try to break through.

They’re there, shining, so bright, THERE IS LITERALLY SO MUCH LIGHT.

But the cloud, metamorphosing from thick to thin then back to thick again depending on the weather, is perpetually there, ever present.

How do I let this go?

Wildflowers and deep bellied laughter lie just beyond, but I don’t know how to get over this fence to get there.

Maybe if this fence wasn’t like an older piece of furniture you can’t seem to get rid of, so you decorate it, try and mask it’s purpose, blend it into the rest of the room to try and make it disappear, maybe had I not made friends with it in my loneliness this would be easier.

So I’m doing to the work.

I’m taking down the garlands, the framed art work and memories of the past captured on little glossy papers.

I’m tearing this bitch down if it kills me.