Rebirth: a poem
like a china doll,
shattered upon impact
with the bedrock
of her worst nightmares
that she could not wake up from.
Her shards scattered aimlessly;
the wasted products of dandelion wishes
and whims produced from childhood dreams
and perceptions gazed upon in mirrors.
They fell alongside her
and cracked upon impact; dead on arrival.
All that was left was black;
the shifting shadows of uncertainty
that took the place
of carefully constructed visions
of what she knew to be.
But her bubble had burst,
and that knowledge was gone.
Who was she?
What did she know to be?
She laid there for a while,
dreaming of times swept away
by rivers of change.
Craving the knowledge
she once took for granted,
She let the darkness envelop her.
She closed her eyes.
Then, a click –
from somewhere deep inside her.
A key turned in the lock of a hidden door.
Whispers spilled out from behind,
but they were not the wicked ones of the shadows.
They were kind.
“Darling, you still recognize you.
Bubbles must burst so you can grow.
What you think you see must shatter so you can know
what you are truly made of.
You know what is –
you have all along.”
With that, she finally realized
that she had been familiar
with the truth
the whole time.
Even though it destroyed her,
it was the catalyst
for her rebirth.
It had been there,
and always would be.
With that, she smiled
and opened her eyes.
A version of this originally appeared in “Healing” The Teller December 2019 Issue #9
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