Courting Eternal Sunrise from the Center of a Field

I remember the days when I recklessly burned bright. I thought the weeds were as beautiful as the flowers. Being pricked by a thorn would cause as much excitement as the silky feeling of the petals against my cheek. I remember being intrigued by idea of dancing with madness and being unafraid to hold hands with those who had the scent of the edge of sanity wafting off of their thready, cotton clothing.

My eyes shined with enthusiasm as I waited excitedly for the next act of mischief that awaited me. I wore a poet's shoes, and they stayed shiny even in muddy walks. I sang and got drunk off of the moon. I felt life. I loved life, and I never wanted to stop living. I welcomed the unknown. When I cried, I cried loudly, dropped to my knees then cried more because of the skin that the asphalt ripped off of me. When I laughed, it was such a joyous laughter that every star in the sky would lean a little closer just to catch the luminescence that surrounded me.

I saw sunrises in fields in the middle of a metropolitan neighborhood with like-minded friends at an age when I should've been scrapbooking and daydreaming about prom night and 16 magazine subscriptions (the magazine for girls younger than 16.) I burned candles at both ends then placed the flame in the middle to see how sturdy it was. I took the words from dozens of my notebooks and took action. I lived what i wrote so that I could write about how I lived. I created rainbows over pits of quicksand to keep from sinking, though many did, but the thought never occurred to me that I would so much as lose a hair to despair.

While my contemporaries were carefully training in thought and step, I was crawling under barbed wire obstacle courses just to see if I could do it without getting too mangled, and the spots where I was nicked became trophies with tales that I could tell myself in later days when I became too afraid to wrinkle my responsible clothing. My education became very unorthodox as I made even the loneliest garbage strewn stranger one of my teachers. I made everyone my teacher and student. The world was my university then one day my planet cracked wide open.

I became saturated in the underbelly of madness. I became medicated. My body looked medicated. I surrendered to a forced sobriety from alcohol, from drugs, from the moon... the stars became distant as they started to feel me cold and sapped of passion because I became too afraid of the wonders of the world because the troubles in my mind became an overgrown forest that weaved itself into every crevice.

I cowered. I forgot how to breathe, and for the first time ever, I locked myself inside a dark room and refused to come out or let anyone in. There I remained. Occasionally, I would peer out and taste the world only to chase myself back inside again.

Now, I find myself ready to bust down the door and live again, only, this time, I'm retiring recklessness and refining my approach. The middle. I seek the center. I only hope balance allows me to participate without falling. I only hope my mind has had it's fill of attacking me so that my soul can flourish again. I only hope... Because it's lonely without the stars nearby to remind me that I'm one of the favorites. It's up to me to awaken daily to that notion and believe it once more. It's up to me to shed the skin of the sickly and become vibrant AGAIN. I can hear the hum coming from within. Soon my soul will sing AGAIN, and it will never be quiet again.