Alice and the Puddle

I wonder as I wander, what will become of me?

Will my mouth be frozen shut like the mailbox on the corner?

Can I keep my balance, standing on my own,

Or will I topple over?

I stand on patches of ice and death.

Every path grows colder.

In my mind’s eye,

I see every consequence,

But what’s in the eye of the beholder?

My eyes, I mean, what do I see?

What is really me?

I ponder this as one might wonder,

What is black ice, as treacherous as night

Or rather a harmless puddle?

Or is that puddle deeper than it seems?

Does it plummet endlessly down?

If my toe dips in,

Will I be Alice,

Falling and inevitably drown?

Or rather will I float?

Will I grow my own wings and soar, 

High above the expectations,

Of those that came before?

What more can I add,

What more can I say,

Can I change your mind?

Will you see things my way?

Oh, no, now here I go.

Down, Down, into the depths

Of my insecurities.

Just breath.

Hot blasts that fill the air,

Warm my heart,

Cool my head,

So, I can see what’s truly there.


This poem is about: 
My family


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