The Forest I Came From

It’s kind of sad that no matter how far I fall I can’t seem to get clean,

no matter how much I try to wash myself clean of myself.

Granted, I’m just a fledgling little thing in a forest full of wolves,

and I sort of hop more than I walk now,

it takes so much energy to move just a foot in any one direction,

you’d think I was a stone trying to concentrate itself into a geode.

I’m still looking for that more substantial symbol for hope

through a confidence, that, like innocence, never fully understands

what jaws are around the next corner, because doesn’t need to either.

Just the other day online I researched gazelles

who spend their days looking over their shoulders,

and probably terrified beyond words, place their faith in the sun’s ability

to show them where the big cat is,

because I thought thinking about them would make me want to look up

and realize hope really isn’t that far away,

but most of what I thought about that just sort of stayed put and didn’t move,

and then all of sudden jumped up and took off into the bushes.

The thing is I am just truly amazed to be a thing

and to be able to make sounds,

even when it’s when I drop out of my apartment and start wondering

if anyone will find me.

The fact is none of us have much time here,

and you’d be right to think that’s not enough,

God knows I’ve wasted enough time wishing I could fly back

into my childhood, and prevent my life from accelerating into a stop sign,

even if I’m telling you

it won’t be long now I’ll be disappearing into the forest,

even if I’m telling you

something somewhat riddling and meaningful,

like, it is because I want so much to return the forest I came from,

that I’m able to remember I’m going to shake with joy inside the pages of it.