The Dream That Wouldn’t Let Go

If I’m going to fail,

let it be chasing the version of myself

I’ve always dreamt was real

the one who writes barefoot

and speaks like sunrise,

who remembers the spell in her laugh

and the map in her scars.

Let me fall running

toward the life where my voice fits the room,

where my edges are not smoothed but sung,

where I build with wonder

and rest without guilt.

Let me lose,

but let it be in technicolor.

Let it be mid-leap, not mid-cope.

I’ve bent before

into shapes that pleased,

into silence that passed,

into plans that were never mine.

No more.

If I’m going to fall,

let it be on the path that called me home.

Let it be with ink on my hands,

and purpose in my breath,

and joy tucked behind every bruise.

And if I’m going to fail

let it be in truth.

Let it be as me.