high twenties

Swinging from one breakable branch to the next.
I hold hope on my shoulders.
In my backpack full of weightless supplies.
Boxes and bottles of love, fear, gratitude, confusion, frustration and happiness.
Equipping myself for any life disaster on the radar.
Insecurities smother every tree trunk I touch
But the ground provides cradles of security blankets and sleeping bags.
I am blessed. Truly blessed.
Walking in diapers, teenage-hormone-country; trekking on slow twenties islands or forests after growing thirties.
My footing of here and now is what I’m after.
Seeing the beautiful landscapes of my face,
Tasting the salty tears of years of experience coming to this moment.
Grabbing mix berries of happy and sad relationships and friendships.
My backpack of supplies will grow and lessen
And one day none at all
Because I will be my own love, fear, gratitude, confusion, frustration and happiness.
My feet will provide all the security and comfort I need.
Preparing me for whatever may come and whoever is with me.

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