I am coming undone.
This is as it should be,
An unravelling of all the threads
Given to me by others,
Often unwittingly
Woven into my tapestry of life.
I am coming undone.
It began at the edges, fraying,
But now it is grooving a deep seam of emptiness
As it must,
Uncreating a pattern
That is no longer relevant.
I am coming apart,
My life no longer makes sense,
Too many threadbare holes
The pattern is nowhere to be seen
Just threads, disjointed.
I scrape up the heap and bin it.
What now?
I am nothing.
I am a discreated being
Waiting…
Waiting…
Suspended…
Not falling.
I am the hanged woman.
I have nowhere to go
No one to be.
What excites me?
Where is the passion?
I don’t know.
I am waiting.
Yet I am not bereft of thoughts
And I am not bereft of hope.
I am not stuck in a heavy mire,
I am a light breeze upon the sea.
The storm has passed.
All is calm.
I am waiting
For the new me.
By Kirsten Ivatts 2016.
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