Taxed.

There is a weight that comes with the light of the Moon. A hold that keeps me from making too rash a move. The roots reach up from the ancient earth, they try to take root in my heels, they try to intertwine in my spine…The earth doesn’t always know best, sometimes.
Each step is a struggle for momentum. For a place to let my heavy heart rest. Each pace that I’ve made, I can feel the ground quake, fighting to make claim, keep it together, don’t break.

The wizened wind whispers of victories. The trees pull softly at my curls. The earth is begging me to let my footing sink deep into the dirt, forget the Ocean, forget the hurt, leave those girls…

But there are two little girls who own me. Who have woven their dirty little fingers unto my soul. They’ve scooped away the rotted edges of me and left them clean and partially whole.
The salt water keeps me from licking wounds. It keeps me from festering, scarring, and thinking of you.
That Sandy place where little girls are my world, where we play mermaids on the shore, that is the place my tattered soul needs once more.
There is a weight that comes with a heart half steeped in land and half soaked in water…there is a price to pay. There is a tax that must always be paid when you’re unsure of the shore and the land.

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6 thoughts on “Taxed.

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