Poetry

Winded

Life can wind you even when you’re already struggling to breathe.

A sour taint that has you reaching for the super glue

to try and stick yourself back together,

though at first you hesitate, the thought that this is your fault

and not just something that’s been hiding in secret for a long time

waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike

staying your hand.

 

But the breath you’re seeking will returnĀ and fill your lungs to full capacity

with fresh, clean air

and not the toxic fumes you’ve been inhaling for so long.

Your beaten self will revive and flourish

in ways you never knew it could.

You just need time.