and

i’m

dangling

from

a

thread

that

could

snap

at

any

moment

and

each

thought

weighs

me

down

and

each

breath

shakes

my

body

and

i’m

just

waiting

praying

for it

to

break

already

so

i

can

fall

down

deep

into

the

abyss

p

u

t

m

e

o

u

t

o

f

m

y

m

i

s

e

r

y

here, where you hold me

not by touch

here is where

i swing watching

just the barest

and thinnest

of threads

holding me

above

the thrashing jagged ground below

here, where you hold me

not by touch

my feet

dangle

but they dont

really

care about

the depths below

because

my heart’s already

down there

plummeted to

here, where you hold me

not by touch

because your arm span is ten times mine

and in your wings you hold so many people

more interesting than i which is why i

am

hanging

suspended

by the belief

that you’ll notice

me hanging

from the

thread

of you that i have wrapped around my wrists

here, where you hold me

not by touch

because i am

uncontrollably bound

by you

yet you don’t know i hold onto you so

just tell me when you cut the thread

and i’ll be ready to join my heart

at the bottom deep below where

it has already surrendered to

sinking

I hung you by a thread

over a cliff

I smirked at you

and I let you go.

You laughed at me

because the thread

was tied

around my neck.

I just laughed back

and cut the string with a shattered piece of you.

And then wordlessly,

we walked away from each other.

sidenote: ok guys, I always loved and intrigued by the concept of "the girl in the mirror" and so yes, the thing I hung by the thread was her... so you get the idea... "shattered piece of you"

Filipendulous

Spider

Dainty but

Fierce

Gosammer

Thread with

Dew drops

Reflecting

Morning light

Filipendulous

Fly

Captured and

Struggling

Fighting to

Escape

This

Delicate trap

One accepts its

Filipendulous fate

One regards it as

Impending doom

How you react

When feeling

Filipendulous is

Up to

You

I am hanging from the thread of life,

bonded with love and affection.

I can hear it squeaking as it

s t r e t c h e s

past its limit, threatening to snap

and allow me an escape from this torture.

I jump,

I scream,

I pull,

I wish,

I wait,

I cry,

I yank,

and yet the thread merely

s t r e t c h e s

past its limit, threatening to snap

and allow me an escape from this torture,

but too scared to do it.

I can't do this any longer.

I eye the pair of scissors within my reach.

I swing like a pendulum,

grasping onto the deadly weapon,

and snip the thread,

but the thread doesn't snap.

I snip,

and snip,

and snip,

and snip,

but the thread doesn't snap.

and that's when it became clear,

the thread will never snap,

will never allow me an escape from this torture,

unless you say so, because

you're controlling my thread of life.

The line is thin;

a peice of thread-

and when you crossed it,

you broke it.

You broke my heart;

my already broken heart,

that was hanging by a thread.

Just loosely hallucinating

Frying eggs and burning my hands

Shotgunning a beer can

Filling time in close quarters

But not reducing myself

to sourdough starters -

Filipendulous

is such a fancy word

For quarantine.

There's nothing but darkness,

And the gossamer line that holds me.

For years, I have clung to the thread

Weaved by a geriatric spider,

Watching how others fall into the abyss

When she doesn't care about them.

The thin noose I wear is her caring.

She did not create the abyss or control it;

Just chooses a select few to save from it,

Though we are ungrateful and prefer falling.

Until she drops us, that is.

We all made the same mistake, meddling

Where we didn't belong and became ensnared

And now have a love/hate relationship

With our captor, lord, and savior,

Who holds us by our necks and protects us

From evils we are too afraid to open our eyes and see.

This season has me in the twilight zone. The demands upon me. The responsibility that lays me flat out. I never considered it was an option to show up or not. I birthed these 3 children. Only as I have been living the last several years in constant state of flipendulous. The men whom chose not to be here. These men have done nothing for their daughters except set them up to live their lives Filipendulous. How can one be anchored in who they are if they do not know half of themselves? The questions thrown out at rapid pace and sometimes just with their eyes. The questions they somtimes strengthen this thread. Other times the questions only ware on various spots of the thread. Just when I think I will lose my grip on the thread, I am bolstered by compliments from a stranger, hugs from the kids, an offer to be an answer to a question mark or a reslove to do better than a constant state defind by Flipendulous.

My sanity dangles before my eyes by a thread. It swings hypnotically like a pendulum. I wait for the thread to break. It should have broken long ago.

I know I'm seeing things, of course. I'm not delusional. Yet my sanity is there, clear as this fine spring day, sparkling like a disco ball in the harsh sunlight.

Gravel crunches beneath my feet, and that, at least, is real. As long as I hear that crunch I know I haven't stopped yet, and I can't stop if I want to reach the bottom before the impending darkness obscures the trail (and, more importantly, its edge).

My hand glides along the knotted rope strung along the rock face, and it, too, is beginning to feel like a thread.

I tear my eyes from my sanity before the distraction can prove fatal. Dust pales the brown of my boots, and if I stand still, I can almost imagine they're just an extension of the gravel, that I'm just an extention of the gravel, that when a little rock rolls too close to the edge and plunges into the unknown, I'll plunge with it.

Thoughts are dangerous, but they're all I have. They boil in my head under the sun's angry glare. I'm (almost) glad that the path is too narrow to sit.

The last water in my last bottle sloshes. I am Tantalus, everything I need so desperately just out of reach, and uselessly dramatic about it. Perhaps it's better if my sanity stays out of reach.

My quads burn and my femurs thud painfully against my knee caps with each step (what would my anatomy professor say if he could see me now?). I renew my grip on the rope (thread) and risk a glance into the abyss. The ground is much closer, so close that perhaps I could survive the fall, though I'm not eager to test that theory. I hug the rock and look back. The path rises sharply behind me (when did that happen?). It turns out that the path in front of me falls just as steep (almost as steep as the cliff). I shove my vertigo into a dusty corner at the bottom of my ming and continue on before the andrenaline wears off or the thread rips.

Each step is quicker than the last, and now I really could (probably) survive a fall, and I don't want it to end yet. I haven't soaked up enough the lush evergreens or the scraggly grasses or the mountains rising green and brown and regal on the other side of the valley. All these hours and miles and too many of them beige and crunchy and dusty gravel beneath my feet.

The insane urge to hike back up rises from the dredges of my mind, and I realize my sanity no longer glints before my eyes (where did I loose it?). The last of my survival instincts fights its way out of those same dredges (or maybe different ones). For a moment I don't know who will win, but my feet decide instead. They ignore my protesting muscles and bones and carry me forcefully down the mountain.

The trees at the bottom grow closer and closer and tower over me as the path evens out and widens. I collapse onto a rock opposite the brown trailhead sign and gulp down the last of my water as the sun paints the sky. The weight of my backpack settles painfully onto my shoulders and I shrug it onto the ground.

I've only been gone three days (two nights with only a bedroll between me and the unforgiving earth) but I barely recognize parking lot (I could blame it on the dimness but it wasn't much lighter when I set out at dawn), and it takes me a moment to find my car despite the general emptiness.

I throw my backpack in the trunk and when I reach the driver's seat every thread holding me up snaps and I collapse. I watch the sun set and rise again before I start my car and let it escort me back to some semblance of reality.