Like the bird that sweeps away
desperate to get away from the tree,
and the butterfly that rattles in its cocoon,
wanting to spread its colors, be seen,
like the paper boat, in its flimsy skin,
waddles down the bumpy watery lane,
I too only looked to go, leave,
I too only looked to escape.

The confines of the past were tight,
like the arms of a sweaty friend,
I did not like so much anymore -
no, I didn't like what the friend did represent.
And in those arms I wriggled and cursed,
no coffee bean or dandelion green
could surpass my level of bitter,
and curse I did,
foul, rank and obscene,
like the gory scene in a massacre movie,
I only slashed and whipped my arms around
to rent every shred of where I belonged,
not wanting to accept everything that I had been.

Self-loathing; in hindsight,
and with a dose of self-esteem,
seems like the mirror
you punch with your fist,
and when down your arm
the blood drips,
and even when your reflection is contorted,
you keep looking.

It seems like the shrill caress
of nails on a board,
it hurts your blood
and shakes your brain cells,
but you can't stop doing it
even you can't take it anymore.

So that sweaty friend released me,
or released myself when I flew,
up, away, so far past
everyone and everything I knew.

Only I walked into a cold river bed,
into a quicksand was where I had led,
sinking so fast into an abyss so strange,
I couldn't hear anything past my thoughts
that kept roaring in my ears,
"This was a mistake!"

Life has a tricky way of
making you realize,
wisdom comes after the pain,
truth only follows lies.
So I fell hard, and thrashed around,
looking for my friend's sweaty arms,
I wanted to be held, comforted,
I wanted to remember it all,
the ups and downs, the regrets and promises
I wanted to recall the good days,
I wanted to go home and course-correct,
I wanted to forgive, and learn to let-go
I wanted to mend my ways.