I wore my past like a woolen coat,
pockets laden with lead.
Each stitch, each thread held a story,
woven tight with
the ‘who I was’
But today the summer sun is bright,
the silken lining of ‘should have beens
and so I slough off this layer,
strip down my burden
to my golden skin,
a naked girl,
of air and light.
In this sun I am nothing but
the glorious Now,
no longer a slave to my own legends,
to the books of other writers’ words
i am just.
Bare to the sun
and completely free
of my woolen coat