When you cried on the floor: a poem

Yes, I’m afraid I’m insufferable to myself.

I loathe my patterns. As footsteps that I have left again and again.

But how am I to stop having feet and still keep walking into tomorrow. 

But I fear all the tomorrows I’ve promised myself have only been circles, 

And I can’t chart a path to win a battle where I have held myself hostage. 

I have dangled failure in front of my own face,

I have place the blinders over innocent eyes to read out that I have not been worth the forgiveness shown to me. 

Always five steps away from embrace and always biting. 

But as I sat with a loved one on a floor that couldn’t support my posture. 

She cried into my shoulder about a doctor's appointment,

But really about the disappointment she carried with her from years ago. 

Wrapped around her like a sling, she thought it would serve as a guard, but it only kept her from moving. 

She sobbed through my skin barrier and watered the moss in my inner workings. 

The liquid tinged with salt extracted the thought,

“I would do anything to let this pass and be in the passing with you.” 

I corrected my earlier writing by saying I wasn’t worth the forgiveness shown to me. 

There was never forgiveness on the table. 

The eyes of my loved ones never saw my trespasses.  

Reflecting upon myself through the heartbreak of a friend has illuminated the importance of enduring trials side by side,

And I healed through her mending.