Journey…by Jessie 11/05

Entangled emotions, ball of string
End, connected to the beginning
Knots throughout
Super highway of events; create the maze of discombobulating
Weaving in and out of it’s self; until there is no trace of either end
One day I will attempt to unravel this sphere of confusion
This mass of braded calamities and happenstances  
Then I will lay the line with all of its imperfections and knotted recollections
Straight and true as any crimp line can look
Attempting to move forward… I walk the line back
One step at a time
Two steps in
I look at the line
My eyes follow the thin strand as it leads away
Sharpen clarity no more as it fades into the distance
Paralyzed to move
Fearful of what transgressions may be found
Quickened pulse, courage summoned
One more step to truth
One more step to reconciliation
One more step to peace
Hardest journey taken
Deep within one’s self
Recoiled line, remembers shape
Journey never done

There was a time when you and I
were impossibly tied to one another,
when we reached the ends of our ropes
we had no place to go but each other.

Years of the world trying to pull us apart
had only made us more tightly bound,
but when it came time for us to part
there was no way we could be unwound.

The problem with knots is when they get too tight
and you no longer want them teathered,
you're left with a single heartbreaking choice:
one end needs to be severed.

A rope that's cut will lose its strength
and the ends will begin to fray,
so one would expect it to loosen in time
until it finally falls away,

but even though my end was cut
the day we were torn apart,
the piece of me that remained tied to you
became the chains that still bind my heart.

i am a mess of
open wounds and
needles that have
never sewn
shut,

and
sometimes i still find
string and knots in (the) places
where
i tried to tug shut-
but ended up ripping
skin,
instead

where:
there's still
salt
from when i tried to cleanse
myself from you,
but
hurt too much to continue,
and left myself
bleeding,

so i'm still here
healing,
letting my veins cry and
my scabs heal over,
with
my a hole where my
heart should be,
and no band-aids to fix
it.