Illustrated by Marian Schurman,
A cycle without suspense,
the epitome of white picket fence.
Aren’t I worth more?
I crave the fear of decisions that roar,
the endless thrill, with my heart beating
like a sea shore during a storm.
Is living in captivity even worth it?
A cave with no end in sight and a loneliness so deep
that it rings behind my eyes,
and all I want to be is wise.
A red flag, that’s what it is, but who am I to judge?
I’m merely a pawn in the bigger picture,
my actions forced, my will on the
Will I regret it?
I want to live on my own terms but
the bad men are lurking and
I am shrinking.
To help myself requires work,
but what if I can’t get out of the web?
I’m locked in place, my life is at my feet,
not in my hands,
I can see its red thread.
It ties around my heart and pulls,
looking me straight in the pupils;
will it ever stop?
I could find satisfaction with what I have,
but my brain has grown large and
craves to see past black depths.
But what if it brings death?
I can see its breath, it creates the showers,
and I have no shawl and now I am raw.
Forget the questions, I say. Forget them all,
I will remove myself from this shell,
reborn into a treasure and strut onto the road.
They’ll all say: get her! By then, too far to reach,
I am the queen of this beach.
The water will touch my toes, the
depths will poison and sink away.
I’ll walk to the cave where my
mother grew; she only left me
a comb and her existential purpose.
I do want to learn from them but
the cycle will make do and I already
drowned the thread.
Sunk to the bottom of the water,
I am far ahead, sunk to dry sand,
on top of land.
To let go of the bugging thoughts,
and to drink out of a coffee mug,
I am the light.