How did I get here and how do we get out?
Do we get out?
I’m losing faith and it hurts to hold on, like rope burn.
I thought my hands we callused enough to take it but maybe hands just aren’t supposed to be leather.
Where is the wisdom in all of this?
Or am I just looking too hard?
Is all of this just a chance to rest and recuperate and be stable and safe for once?
I can’t even remember what safe feels like.
Did I ever really know?
Go inward.
Yes, I hear you,
but it’s lonely there, and
feels like the most unsafe place to be.
I’d rather create new flames and dance in them,
instead of facing my inner inferno,
the bonfire of what’s been lost,
the skull fire of memory,
the hagfire of facing up to my fucking life.
The answers are all there in the dark, waiting for me to shine a torch on them like dingo eyes.
I have to learn how to howl but I’m afraid of being eaten alive.
A dingo might steal my baby but maybe that’s exactly what I need to give birth to myself again.
Is it possible to burn all of this to the ground?
Everything I’ve created, everything I am?
Will I be brave enough to call the dingoes to tear me apart, to be rebirthed from my own bones?