Tuesday, June 5, 2012
There’s the pulse,
Rhythmically moving through my hands
Tightening into clenched fists,
My feet digging deeper into the earth,
Pushing down as if I’m trying to stand firm
Right where I am, but I’m not.
I’m not standing firm.
I’m tearing through everything in my way,
Everything holding me back from embracing freedom,
From ripping off this fleshly façade and facing the world
As if born again, born for the first time.
Push down into the dirt and rise,
Bounding towards the Sun,
Wishing even that I could grab it, pull it down,
Snuff it out with the very same fury
Beating in my heart.
Landing, crashing into concrete,
Footprints left to remind the world
Of such rage and chaos as only I can wield.