Many moons have heard my wishes,
Many fires have burnt my secrets.
Thousands of trees have listened in wise stillness.
To my mutterings,
Tone deaf harmonies.
Their calm demeanor kindly comforts me all the same.
A part of my mind has opened you see,
This light, has a likeness to deep reflection,
Bouncing from a trickling stream.
An unexplorable cave requiring patience and balance.
Discarding these cycles of losing control of inhibition and will.
My hands delicately ache, as this arrow repeatedly forces my arms around a once hopeful sky.
I do not recognise this woman,
Surrendered and devouring.
Twenty six years, reluctantly on repeat.
I must remain thankful to these elements, who with no judgement have willfully witnessed the truth of who I have come to be.
I cowar in anticipation of what will one day come to pass.
I will never know if these habits I will ever truly defeat.
But I relax in the knowing, each new cycle of these aching hands,
I grow stronger in my mission to break.
Heal and understand learnt behaviour.
These careful coping strategies,
Remaining in the ruins of fairy gardens, I once so carefully curated.
Faithful flowers poke their way through the demise of blissful innocence.
I must pardon myself,
Strip naked to the wild of what was.
Bathe in this presence of action.
Finally forgive all taunting tragedy.
With these humble aching hands I clear the hush of festering puddles.
No longer plaguing the beauty of my sweet fairy gardens.
These memories residing as rubble,
That fell far too soon.