March 3, 2018

No One is coming to Save Me. {Poem}

No one is coming to save me.

And I have desperately been waiting for a hero,
as I impatiently spin my webs
that wrap me tight in cocoons of my own suffering.
It feels like death in here.
Like the spider must be close to sucking my life blood
and I should just give up,

But I say no.
F*ck that sh*t.
I will become the one I have always been waiting for.

It is imperative,
we train as warriors of internal self-defense.
No longer employing external eyes to see,
we have the power to create a kinder container.
Saying yes to the uncharted path,
one delicate choice at a time,
we have the resilience to unravel ourselves
out of the most intricate suffocation.

We can break out,
with patience. Persistence. Tender courage.
Bathed in love.
We ask for help.
We accept support.
We listen to the intimate voices rooting for our liberation,
and we keep moving.
Crawling until we can walk.
Even if daylight seems impossible,
we can feel it in the darkest night
because they go together.

In a sky without stars,
we know in our bones
clouds and cities always give way to a blanket of light.
One simple breath after the other,
we pause.
In the distance we can hear birds singing,
coming closer,
until we look up,
and see a sky full of wonder.


Author: Angela Meyer
Image: Allef Vinicius/Unsplash
Editor: Kenni Linden
Copy Editor: Travis May

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