walking a tightrope.

pressing into the narrow spaces.

i’m weaving.

i’m suffocating.

off balance.

losing my breath.

teetering on the edges.

the narrow has become too narrow.

i can’t do this anymore.

i can’t walk this tightrope.

i can’t squeeze into these places of rightness.

i’m going to let myself fall off.

i’m going to break out of the wedged-in-places.

i’m leaving.

i’m lamenting.

i’m cursing.

i’m silencing.

i’m mattering.

i’m imagining.

life can be different.

it will be different.

there is life underneath this tightrope.

life surrounding me i hadn’t noticed.

life beyond the walls.

life outside of the restricted spaces.


how do i let myself fall?

where will i land?

will anyone catch me?

can i catch myself?

what is outside the bricks?

just beyond the concrete and high walls?

how do i climb them?

how do i break free?

wind whipping through my hair.

clothes flapping against my body.

silence so loud deafens me.

the air feels good.

i don’t know where this is headed.

i start climbing slowly.

knees scraping.

fingers stretching, grasping.

suddenly i see outcroppings to hold onto.

what i need manifests as i go to meet it.

up, up, up.

down, down, down.

i’m falling.

i’m climbing.

i’m imagining the new places my feet will tread.

the new places my hands will spread out.

the road will rise up to envelope me as i fall to receive it.

i’m falling through the old life.

climbing above the tiny theologies.

i am small.

my creator awaits.

he has been wondering when i would release myself.

when i would come to him.

hear for myself.

listen for myself.

see for myself.

think for myself.

know for myself.

matter to myself.

allow myself.

he has been waiting.

he is there to catch me.

he is on the other side of the walls.

i’m breathing easier now.

no more gasping.

no more panting.

deeper, fuller, slower breaths.

i can do this.

we can do this.

{Hope Wood © 2014}