there is something pressing down

on me

this wight in and on

my chest.

i think i may be

six feet under

the rich black earth

and i am suffocating

as i try my hardest

to reach the light

 

it is dark down here, yes

and lonely and

cold

and there are

things in the movement of the earth

and the clinging of the roots

that make me feel

like a stranger

crawling in my own skin

 

it is not until the rain comes

bringing notes of escape

a melody i worship as i dig

with my fingers

up up up

until the soil comes pouring in

and i come pushing out

black under my fingernails

deep breath in my lungs

and eyes full of the possibility

of beginning again

 

—sometimes you have to sink deep into the earth in order to rise above it