Here I am again--
or is it just that I thought
I had rid myself
of my childhood demons?

Battling quietly, so no one
knows I am suffering,
I softly tiptoe through Life,
yet manage to leave a path
of destruction behind me.

"Who am I hiding from?" I ask,
"Why can't I give myself
permission to be here;
to gently comfort
the sensitive child
who took on the Sorrows
of the World?"

So I continue the Journey
to the center of my Soul,
recreating myself
every year or so--
dropping men like flies
as I peel away the masks--
hoping I can minimize
the wreckage of my past
mistakes
and again be reborn
to include myself
among the Human Race.

I remember living among the trees
            for hours upon end
moving and swaying with the breeze,
      energized by their essence.

The trees gave me grounding,    
  without which I had none:
   I floated above the Earth
    like an untethered kite;
aimless, lost, not wanting to be
           in this World.

But I understood the trees,
  and they nourished me
     with their strength
         and flexibility.

   Today, when I am lost
I still go to them for refuge:
        I talk to them
  and they embrace me
   like long lost friends.

As I sit here, wondering
You turn me into nothing
in your mind--
I am a bad memory
you are trying to erase;
I am just a nuisance,
a gnat at your ear,
and you swat at me
with indifference
to make me disappear...

But I keep coming back for more--
or is it just that I'm still here...
bothering you,
buzzing in your ear--
forcing you to
think beyond your World,
filling you with
thoughts not of your own:
I am an Intruder to your World