Cliff’s edge bites at my soles
I’m looking for some footing
trying to walk before I dance
Listen for the tick-tick of a clock
to give myself a chance
To steady, steady, thread the needle
to calm the storm, angry black clouds of
“You cannot leave us” and “How could you do this”.
Like a child’s arrhythmic toddle
towards the reassuring cool
of chocolate pudding, the sweet
and the smooth, I stumble towards
But then I remember what I deserve
And the smooth blankets become unforgiving stone
And the house becomes a cardboard box
And everyone is a specter- especially me.
The forest is no place for a child
Like I have no place in the crowd of
happy chatting people. I can run,
but the cliff will give way
to the gaping maw of my mistakes.