Nomad

A collaborative poem between me and Crippled at Your Table. J also posted the poem on her site, so please visit and explore more of her thoughtful works!

I cannot cherry-pick
the days I’ve divided
my soul between reason and unknown.

I always step where I am told.

On this well-worn road
I cannot always discern
the next bend or turn through the deep ruts.

Do not ask me where it leads.

I am crying for someone
to come pull me from the middle,
where I stand now.

Voices ahead.
Behind.
Begging my follow through.

This yellow line is the closest friend,
knowing decision can’t be made
when force cripples my frame.

I plod through
another journey’s day.

Sending my prayers to the sky
the burden lightens
from mere acclimation.

Drifting, I hesitate against the grass
where the trodden path abuts.

Should I follow conformity’s soft
blade down to meet river comfort?

Or venture out to rock’s edge,
risking bruised & skinned knee
to hear I am loved the same
though middle ground became
my stability from the beginning?

I pray my answer comes
in your acceptance twining,
our hands’ strength becoming one.

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