I was pushing up the daisies of damnation,
buried under the untenable weight
of a carpet of fibers of fear...
At your age.
I was diving deeper daily
in doses of dream and drug;
a decent that would cradle me
in the arms of quicksand’s dark, moist lining
until I was fully gestated
and readied for a new birth...
At your age.
Clawing my way up thru the earth and weeds
of wound and shame, trying
to free myself from the debris of dirt and dung
I had dove headlong into
disregarding any stop lights or caution signs,
screeching warnings of impending doom....
At your age.
And life grabbed hold of me,
squeezed me by the throat, taking the breath of rebellion
out of me, and wrestled me to the ground.
It pinned my skinny, sapling strength to the floor,
gasping for air as it counted far past ten....
At your age.
And when I struggled to my feet,
and staggered back into the light
punchy and shell shocked from my internal wars
that left me scarred, but made me whole,
I flew like a fledgling with weak and shaky new formed wing
and landed on every branch of a strangers kindness
Until I could soar.....
Looking back to see the daisies of damnation
Had been transformed into fields of flowers
with dancing angels playing on the tips of their petals.