Round and around the sun cycle I go
past fortnights and full moons and first anniversaries,
weary to meet another season of rattle and shake.
My brain is on fire with the thrill.
But I’ve worn holes in my dress
and the tempo is making me dizzy.
Allow me to pause.
Let me sit this one out while the rest of them dance.
Catch my breath,
empty the trash that’s collected in my head.
Take a nap for a century or two
from the birthdays and the morning sun on endless repeat.
Must I awake again on this good green earth in a tiny body
to replay the humiliations of childhood?
That day when I free-fell face first
onto the pavement in front of a hundred high school eyes,
kids waiting for their home-bound buses and
witnesses, all, to my stumbling uncoolness.
Or bear raunchy taunts at the body of a flat-chested skinny girl,
whose fluffy sweaters were no match to disguise the scourge that had
already been noticed by the eyes of unkindness,
injuries inflicted on budding physicality and a sensitive spirit.
And the cruelty of youth persists through the ages …
So stop the wheel, I say, and
let me get off.
Circle back to what I do best,
dwell as the quiet One that I am.
Folding the petals in around myself
to await the beauty of another day.
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