The Door...

The Door…

Always that Door…

Taunting, chilling, mocking.

Heart racing, hands sweating, panic-stricken.

Handle turning, hand on my back, gentle but firm push, through the Door, closing click.

I can’t do it, mom.  Please!  Don’t leave me.  I can’t breathe.  Why?

Something digging into my palm.  Hand opens slowly.  A small golden piece of metal?

Tuck it away somewhere safe.

Always that Door…

Always so big and intimidating.

In front of me through all my firsts.

First day of kindergarten, first time riding a bike, first day playing sports, first overnight camp, first move to a new state, first day of middle school, first dual credit college class. 

Always that Door…

Always terrifying.

Always needing help opening that Door and that gentle push.  And always grateful for the opportunities that followed. 

Forever finding that metal piece in my palm.  Every piece kept safe. 

Then suddenly, I understand! 

The pieces fit together like a well-designed puzzle.  They conjoin into a beautiful skeleton key. 

I had the ability to go through that Door all along. 

But now I hold the key.  The key to all the rest of my “firsts”. 

I am strong and confident.  I no longer need someone else to open that Door and push me through. 

I have the power, grace, and courage to unlock that Door and step through unrestrained and well-prepared.

 Now I look forward to that Door.  It leads to challenges, possibilities, and dreams.

I am ready world.

Show me that Door.

Always that Door…

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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