Falling

 

 

 

Halfway up the mountain I fall (again)

 

Tumbling backward

 

Sliding

 

Skidding

 

Crashing into trees

 

(that would be you and me)

 

Rudeness overtakes me,

 

I cannot breathe as I try to defend and fend a way out of Us and Them…

 

 

 

Bested by the very anger and pain I seek to soothe in the world –

 

And am thrown out.

 

 

 

This is not my home.

 

 

No longer on the Mountain, I continue to fall —

 

Spinning and bumping into the places of my childhoods –

 

What, you only had one?

 

 

Echoes of conversations bleed through from voices long ago:

 

Where are you from?

 

No really, where are you from?

i live here.

 

 

 

No, where are you from?

i live here.

 

No, Little:

Girl, Gal, Sweetie – (pick one)

 

Or No, Silly, (if they are being kind)

 

(as if silly was kind for anything but clowns),

 

 

 

or Stop That Back-talk, if they were not… being kind.

 

 

 

Where are your people from?

 

 

 

My people?

 

Mine?

 

 

 

I have people?

 

 

 

But the real message is:

 

 

 

You don’t belong here.

 

 

 

Where are you from?

 

 

 

And without skillful means, i am a sawdust doll with no port of call

 

And as I tumble and fall –

 

Lost in it all –

 

 

 

The ‘you don’t belong here’

 

becomes

 

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.

 

 

 

Where are you from?

 

 

 

Gravity takes over.

 

 

 

Where are you from?

 

 

 

Earth. I am from Earth.