Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Mist & frost covered tree


I spin, I slide, I turn around,
I’m so wound up that I can’t calm down,
I hug my arms, I close my eyes,
I am trying so hard not to cry.

I want to move ahead in time,
I want to go back to when I was nine,
how can I decide which one is best,
when all I feel is rudderless?

I long for a fresh way for me to be,
to create a new identity,
but I hold on so tightly to my pain,
that I cannot cry the tears that cleanse like rain.

I stare out of the window, I see the mist outside,
shadows fade, then disappear, as does the sky,
the world’s noise softens, my breath slows down,
my pain dissolves into the clouds.

It seems that in the mist, now turned to fog,
that I can feel my mother’s love,
channeling her way to rescue me,
across my dark and stormy sea.