As a little girl I fell a lot,
I would cry and sometimes scream out in pain.
But when that small piece of fabric and glue
Stuck to my body it was like magic.
That piece of sticky fabric meant that I was healing
That someone was taking care of me –
That I was okay.
I may no longer be a little girl,
But I still fall a lot.
A simple covering is no longer enough,
My rug is full of the things I have swept under it.
There has to be more than a superficial solution,
It must be different than when I was little.
I have seen the emptiness of words;
They are the sticky fabric of adulthood.
Empty promises and false hope,
I don’t even hear them anymore.
I can take no more heightened expectations,
Only to have them ripped out from under my feet –
I may not be old,
Or physically frail.
Each fall is worse than the one before,
And a soul can only take so much.
It can only take so much sticky fabric and empty words,
Seeing is now necessary for acceptance,
I need actions and proof if I am to believe.
But my mind is so tired,
And if I keep falling-
Someday I won’t get up.