#15 healing poetry; baby birds sing

If I close my eyes,

And remember, who I was then,

I feel as if both everything, and nothing at all has changed.

Strange skies wake me up, though they’ve been ‘home’ for over twenty years.

Strange people make me want to collapse into my skin, though they speak with the same accent as mine.

I attempt to shed the layers that have built my life,

Because some are painful.

Some are strange.

Some make me writhe.

Some make me twist.

It’s funny how I never look at a tree, with initials carved into its bark,

With its wonderful shape,

And think ‘pain, strange, writhing, twisted.’

Instead, all I feel is peace.

It’s still growing.

And baby birds sing, nestled close in its branches.

Published by LughLana

Hey there. My name is Ash. Whenever I feel lost or confused, I write. This blog is a project in releasing the poetry I would have kept locked up inside, otherwise. It's pronounced 'LOU-lah-NA.' Enjoy your visit!

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