freedom doesn’t come quickly
I chip away at the fear
telling my truths
making my stands
a life-time later
I’m still walking the path in the rain
swimming through trees
I want to be wet,
new
like a bear
I rub my bare back
on the bark of a tree
more satisfying than a door jam
that rough wood on my mosquito bite
ferns feather-dust my shins
with fallen rain
the sharp edges of my truth
begin to soften
and melt into the curves
of my body
becoming familiar
Wet New
I keep walking
