I hugged my own body,
Rested my face on my upper arm,
My skin and flesh, strength,
Resilience, and held my self,
No matter what, as generously
As I could, the scent of my own skin
In my nose, breathing softly
Back into myself.
In me nested a sadness that I tried
To dance with, shake off, transform,
Speak to, solve, I couldn’t find the right
Verb, the right action, where did it come
From? This nervousness? This immense
Grief for the smallest of things? The depth
Attached to disappearing gestures.
The monkey bars of paranoia, obsession and
I watched people dig themselves into
The deepest holes. Never to resurface.
Never to come back up for air, for resolution,
For freedom, to themselves, who they could have
Been had they not endlessly and defencelessly
Listened to voices within themselves that didn’t mean well
And led them straight into self-destruction.
I told myself, in silent words, within my mind,
That every step my feet would take would lead
Me into the opposite direction of what I had witnessed.
The more skins I shed the more naked I felt and froze.
Had I shed them too quickly, cut them off
Too abruptly, unused, judged too harshly,
Had I not thought, felt it through, made my peace
Within myself, every single particle, had I stepped on them,
Never looked back, questioned my own actions,
My quest for renewal, circulation, thinking in obstacles,
Detached and dissolving, consolidating, a dam up to its
Neck in moss, swamps, dust and damp rust, had I shed
My own skins and voices and truths without having
Regenerated a substitute, without having been ready,
Had I been too handy with those scissors of mine,
Taken a million steps before having taken one,
Shed what was still alive and belonged to me
As I attached myself to thin air out of nowhere?