The wound festered.

A familiar feeling gnawed at the brain.

Running through the fields,

holding my breath,

I unwrap the noose.

The door wide open

I fall on the ground with bloody knuckles,

panting and pounding.

When the sun goes down, I search for light

in between the cracks of cedar walls.

This is the place of my soul, I say.

The cool breeze gusts through the windows.

Closing my eyes, my shouts come back to me.

What is a father?

And where is mine?

The lock is latched.

And I sit here,

saving myself

from the deflation of the hopes of being

a daughter

a son.

Falling victim to the world,

I erased myself.

Interloped by chance

but I am no chance.

I was born by a mother

then reborn

by my own self.

I stand and listen to the silence.

Maladies of a birthright

given back to me,

by the trees

by the magnanimity of the place I created.

I look around and see 

that you can’t catch me now.