Self Reliant

Wispy strands of air whip my body, a gentle massage only a winter’s morn can provide; I tilt my chin up into the brilliant blue yellow above.

Lungs: balloon out and release you, it, then.  

Simmering in my solitude, I glide towards the woods; branches graze my hair, dubbing me with courage.

Skin: crisp against the wind.

I. Am. On. My. Own. 

No desire to bust into your room to vent, cry, dance, let go.  I don’t need it no more.

I am me; the me who stands tall like that oak in front of me.

On my own.


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