Morning Carries Bravery in Her Basket
I love morning. Anticipation… Inventory… Bravery… Morning carries bravery in her basket.
There are barb prongs uprooted from my skin… Layers of caging removed… Disillusions soothed… Saved in a rattling tin can, for the days when I need proof.
Someone said I couldn’t feel light on my cheeks, because I’m bad, because I’m wrong, because I’m weak. Spirit penitentiary has rules that change with each move we make. Victory only comes in discarding the need to stake.
What if there is no sun in my soul? I hold my breath… What if they’re correct? I open the door in spite of them, in spite of myself, and step forward into delicious white… blessed.
At last I’m free, outside my cell. But still I stay close, feeling dirt under my bouncing frame. If I could take my captors with me, no magnet would remain.
All of me dances… even my face… even my hair. Feet drum. Stamping silent cries. Defusing the mirage. I submit to a cadence my soul has always known, banishing the demons back to their home.
Most of my scars are beauty marks now, others are infected… Iron slivers, bits of wood, bloody shards yet rejected.
“One day soon, happiness won’t feel so rebellious,” she whispers… “Each fragment will know that self-love is not self-ish.”
“How does freedom feel?”, probes Mother Earth. I want to answer her with a 24-carat glimmer in my voice, and so I search.
I close my eyes and I see: A transgressed limp… Trombones crying… Transitory cacophony… And I’m inhaling and exhaling… And the shine is not in my voice, but in my tearing eyes, and I say: “I’ll have to get back to you on that; all I can do today is dance”.
Squeeze hugs and hopes that you are dancing too! Annie, at Biocadence.
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