Voices

By Ava McKinney-Taylor:

There is something under my skin,

Anxious,

Begging to get out.

I can hear the strains of something on the wind,

Like a voice calling from far away.

“Come find me,”

It teases,

Challenges,

Begs.

“Leave the rush,

Leave the heartbreak, Leave the pain.”

“Come into the woods,”

It says,

“To find your fate.”

Do you hear it?

Now?

The voice?

The sound of hoofbeats,

And sobs,

And screeching laughter?

Do you feel it?

Now?

The sensation of moss under your fingers?

The silk against your skin,

The thorns in your hair,

The witch-stones under your feet?

Every tree I walk by reaches out it’s joyous fingers,

Grasping at my dress and saying,

“Come,”

And,

“Stay.”

Oh,

How I wish I could go,

How I wish I could run and trip and leap into the forest.

My heart beats fast,

Tearing free of my chest,

Losing itself in the brightness of the sun.

But my feet are anchors,

Holding me back,

Weighing me down.

I have not passed the gauntlet,

Yet,

Not been proven worthy.

The moss is a ghost against my touch,

The branches fall away,

The voices remain whispers.

One day,

I promise,

I swear.

I will follow my traitor’s heart,

My lost mind,

My broken fingers.

I will listen to my straining ears,

Look with my hungry eyes,

Speak with my stranger’s tongue.

One day,

But not yesterday,

And not today.