"I make new things"

I remember when I was in prison.

It was dark there, and I hated it.

I got through each day

by laying on the floor and weeping, wishing to die.

(if this is "life," shudder.

Beat your head against the wall until your skull cracks

and only gibberish and blood poor out of your mouth.)

I remember when I was in prison, but don't remind me;

what good is being let out of prison if

everytime the warden rattles his keys,

you run straight back to the old cell

and voluntarily

shut the door? 

what good is a freedom haunted by the memory

of captivity?

what good is a consciousness of anything

 before this moment,

of focusing not

on what lies before you, a road in front of your feet, a future?

How can I stay on this path if my eyes

are trained behind and beneath me?

how can I not help but veer off into the bushes then wonder

at the scrapes on my arms, the bleeding knees?

Look forward, train your eyes ahead of you.

It will feel natural only after

you have gotten into the habit. 

until then, force yourself. 

("Home" is just on the other side of this bramble.)

-XOXO,