I’ve found that I’ve started praying again. Not anything
really, just when the air is just the right thickness, and the fluidity of it
gets into my lungs and I choke up and I climb up a tree and just sit there,
talking to something which I don’t know how to explain to anyone but which
pulls and pushes me away from people no matter how hard I try to be articulate.
Maybe there are too many gods between us.
Maybe my inability to form honest words comes from being too
honest in my face.
Maybe there’s only so much honesty a person can give before
they break apart.
Some days, I feel like I’m breaking apart, and the survivors
are my shipwrecked body parts. I’ve got limbs flying everywhere and I had
always imagined what weightlessness would feel like and this – this doesn’t
ring true.
I sometimes think that I am the three wise men, giving the
only three things I own. And I give it all. Keep on giving until the only parts
left of me are so thin even the moon at it’s most distant would aspire to it.
I say may god forgive us both, but these days I’m feeling
more like there’s nothing left to forgive. So I try to stand tall, chest like a
mountain.
Neck reaching like them trees that try to reach higher.
Heart marching like a parade.
Lungs the sound of bagpipes, so loud you can feel it from
the moon.
Still, I wake in the middle of the night wanting to be
braver.
Wanting to be fearless.
Wanting to be the girl who stands fearless in the heart of
the dragon’s mouth.
Want to know what being brave feels like, and if it really
does feel like flying.
