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Poem

How long have I been holding my breath? 
How long have I walked this path? 
It's winding turns make no sense. 
One after another. 
There is no sense in this madness, 
only an interrupting voice asking where I would like to go next. 
Right, left, up, down, and through. 
The wisps of my thoughts drift like whispers carried on the wind, their fragile murmurs rustling the leaves underfoot,
a semblance of who I used to be-- 
a child with her arms wrapped around her, 
cooing at my ownself and following the 
feeling in my heart and stomach. 
Alone. I was alone, 
through and through, 
never finding warmth unless I created it. 
I'm older now, and I still find my arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying to light that small fire in me. 
Only, now that small fire ignites into a blaze when I think of my loneliness, 
of the thousands of tears I have shed. Tears no one else would ever see, 
their salt lingering bitter on my tongue- a quiet sting that burns like the sharp scent of rain. 
My mind is heavy with the thought that I will always feel a small, barren part of who I could have been, but who is that? 
Years later and I still don't know who that is in her entirety. 
Maybe I will find her in a meadow, 
splayed out and urging the sun 
to glow a little longer as it sets. 
Perhaps, she will be perched 
atop a tree branch soaking in the 
light of the moon, 
tears running down her face as she silently pleads for it to stay. 
Whoever I am, 
whoever I will become, 
I allow myself to follow the whispers of her prayers as I walk my path. 
I know that God will allow us to meet when the time is right.

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