She runs through the meadow
Dandelions and wild berries crush underfoot.
Barefoot with determination, she actually giggles
Today will be the day
This year will be…
She’s running, unfazed by her bruises
Or the bigger ones on her soul.
A cutter’s calligraphy from a ballpoint razor.
The handwritten scars on her arms.
Tastes the wind as she slices through it.
She sees the edge of the cliff approaching quickly.
Fear or flight, the unknown or the past.
She yells, for by yelling she escapes from her head.
She yells, so the demons which attack her thoughts will hear and tremble:
“I am not a victim. My life starts anew this year, this day, this moment
I. Am. Free.”
Her thoughts rally to convince her otherwise
By reminding her of what she did, reminding her of him.
Who do you think you are, come back to the past.
It’s safe here. Besides, who will believe you chose to change?
So she speaks to her thoughts aloud, the demons retreat in shame
Negative thoughts have little power when we speak aloud to them.
The cliff approaches, now or never.
Go back or leap.
Safety or learn to soar.
Grieve or grow.
She is a good person, finally believe it or believe the lies.
She lifts her head up to the sky, tears shining like diamonds.
She wonders what to make of this moment
As her eyes widen with curiosity and joy:
[Poem #1. Image by Olivia Bell via Flickr and a Creative Commons License.]