to be alive..
“To Be Alive is to be vulnerable,” she said.
And I was asking for death the other night. I had too much of vulnerability. Stripped to the red and white bones. Bled dry. A sack of dead leaves for the fire heap. I’d had enough of living.
Then morning came in all the poetic ways that light comes after darkest nights. I was alive. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be, again. But I was alive. And vulnerable. Hopeful. As with living comes vulnerability so comes hope.
And I was asking for death the other night. I had too much of vulnerability. Stripped to the red and white bones. Bled dry. A sack of dead leaves for the fire heap. I’d had enough of living.
Then morning came in all the poetic ways that light comes after darkest nights. I was alive. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be, again. But I was alive. And vulnerable. Hopeful. As with living comes vulnerability so comes hope.
