Dueling identities: less the me I should, more the me I need

barefoot woman

Too long I have been contained, refrained by the Big Smoke chains around my ankles, my wrists. Eyes glazed over, droning day-in-day-out with every breath I breathe in the fumes of the city. Plugging in from one machine to the next. To sleep awake, and in my dreams, I find the peace I so desperately seek. Before long, at the crack of dawn, it’s the same battle.

Walking dead.

Until the desire for my free-spirited former self is screaming so loud I cannot breathe another breath without answering her prayers. I cut the proverbial apron strings and break away. With every step picking up the momentum until I’m moving at speeds so hair-whipping fast I’m untouchable.


Moments feel like centuries. From one moment to the next I am changed. A bigger brighter more me me. A me-er than I’ve ever been me.

Standing at the ready, at the precipice, collecting moments and seeking the next, keeping them in my basket of life. At the ready, gritted teeth. No fear. No patience. No going back.

Swan dive.



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