Dawn

For years I have been living asleep. Closed eyes shut tight against tears trying to weep. I cuddled up to the night, my head in the crook of its arm Where light couldn’t penetrate, even the twinkle of stars. Anything but black was just too bright, razor sharp edges shredding skin like a knife. Night has lasted for days against day, its enduring arms keeping the harsh sun away. But nothing lasts forever. Even the strongest will eventually collapses under pressure. Morning is dawning at the edge of my room, dripping with blood as the sun nips and tucks my cozy cocoon. Raking its eyes over me like smoldering coals, dawn has come to sever my umbilical cord. I feel premature, but the doctor says overdue to be forcefully birthed from this overripe womb. A patch of light sears at naked flesh, leaving it screaming and covered in blood and in sweat. I reach for dusk with quivering hands, aching for steady arms to hold me again with rippling promises and the weight of the world chipped from my shoulder with their silver sword. I long to kiss the night’s trembling air and let its waves overtake my lungs, undulating darkness pushing me toward a watery grave, drunk on apathy, I’ll sink like a stone. Where the sun sips, The moon devours whole, and drinks me up like sanguine wine. I race for the shelter of tongue, not wanting to be left behind. Breath hurts too much to breathe, so I let myself drown for the reprieve. Sometimes it is easier not to struggle. Cold can numb, and warmth wants me to heal. It doesn’t care that I don't want to feel. But night has ridden me hard on my slippery back. Exhaustion has begun to set in. I cannot take it where it needs to go, and it cannot be content to leave me alone. So I let go and am left standing abandoned in a barren land with exposed skin and scraped knees from praying too hard not to be set free. If I stay long enough in this desolate place maybe I too could become empty space. But daylight came and found hidden fears bristling on my skin, perspired in tears. It doesn’t care that I don't want to feel. To taste, touch, see, smell… confront the stains of misery left clinging to my shell. I don't move. I don't breathe. I don't think. I don't feel. I let fear keep me still on this bed of nails waiting for the fall that will leave my heart impaled. I am a beached whale sputtering, dying, fading with the day where sun kisses pale dreams away, finds strands of gold amongst dying gray. I am cradled by warm yellow arms, no longer bound by night's seductive charms I never knew the safety open air could bring without the quilt of darkness smothering me. Long nights of rest left skin full of sores. Caressing fingers were blades leaving cuts I ignored. It hurts so much to finally let them bleed. But blood washes away the pain I no longer need. It cleanses and purges and lets sunlight in to try to touch on old hurts hung out to dry. Anxieties will shrivel and fall off my limbs like leaves dropping at the first breath of autumn wind. I’ll let them stay crumpled on the ground screaming in agony, leaving only me: a barren tree. At last I am ready for spring, arms open, waiting for green. My wounds are toughened under sunlight’s dappled eye. My arms are now reaching for the sky. As new growth begins to bloom, piece by piece I am discovering the comfort of inner peace.