The floor of my first studio apartment beneath my forehead, kneeling,
a place in which I find myself regularly.
I’m weeping. I’m begging. I’m grateful.
I recognize myself. I’m high. I’m at home here.

Two decades later, today.
Seated upright in my favourite chair, impossible sunset pinks
lighting up my almost-closed eyes.
Floor of my studio flashing beneath my face in my mind.
I’m okay here, finally;
more than six years since I changed my state.
Gift of age, gift of quiet, gift of time. 

Thoughts fly through.
I’m uncomfortable. I’m breathing. 

Failing as a parent. Breathing.
Such a good mother. Breathing. 

Empowerment is a virtue. Breathing.
Too fixated on others. Breathing. 

So glad I’m sitting. Breathing.
What else am I missing. Breathing.

I wonder how long I’ve been here. Breathing.
Teacher. Student. Breathing.

Letting go. Breathing.
Failing as a parent. Breathing.
Such a good mother. Breathing.

I’m back.
And for a moment, the first in years,
I wish for that high again.
Take me. Ruin me. Lift me. Release me.
Remove me. Disappear me.
Deeply uncomfortable in this body.

This is fear, warping my mind, hello.
I’ve been waiting.

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