by Jennifer Dryden
It has nothing to do with rebellion
Or the sting of the needle.
It creates a high at first
But then a numbing feeling,
Sort of like the first moment of the morning.
My pain goes away…
And my breathing becomes less controlled.
I close my eyes as the beats continue in my chest
And only break the stare at the scenes in my mind
When someone speaks.
I lose myself.
The colors are perfect and
The writing echos my heart’s desire;
The entire process like I’d imagined, like I’d hoped,
All those times alone.
I grow wings.
Reach my hands out into the air,
Look into the mirror in the end, and
Believe in myself, in my ability.
My ability to finally let go and be…