And if I had to wander, I would follow myself back to the roots to untangle the mess. Diagnosed with a fear. Rip it from me fast enough so that I can’t feel the sting – but that’s impossible. That’s reaching for things that will always be too far away. That’s empty prayers that were never finished. Detached from those roots and instead of grounding myself, I planted parts of me where the dirt washed away easily and the sun never lived. Floated in and out of myself like a dream. And the whole thing turned into a nightmare. And the rain felt really heavy. And my subconscious felt everything because nothing feels like everything when things crumble. My hands were never meant to build. These bones could never hold me up the way I had hoped they would. The way the universe had promised. Crawling back and wandering through tree limbs-trying to heal my own self, wondering how I can get back to me. Dig up the roots- I always try. -AMT