To Start Over Again (A Poem)

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I’m no longer afraid to start over.

I’m not afraid of crushing my own dreams in order to allow for new roots to take their place.

I’m not afraid to abandon my former self because I can never be the truest me if I hold onto everything that was never meant to be held forever.

I’ve ripped hundreds of pages filled with words that I’ve written.

I’ve thrown a match at the grand city I’ve built when I was younger and felt an excruciating sense of helplessness as I watched the flames engulf everything that I’ve ever stacked up high.

I’ve abandoned a garden that I’ve tended to for so long and allowed the flowers to wither and die.

I’m starting at page one.

I’ve placed one brick down in an unfamiliar territory, far from yesterday but closer to today.

I’ve sown new seeds and I’m waiting for them to sprout.


I am no longer am a big dreamer.

I just want a plot of land where I can plant anything my heart desires and dwell in a rustic cabin in deep, undisrupted solitude, where nobody would come near me to judge me or care if I listen to John Denver records on repeat and sit on the front porch with a notebook, scribbling nonsensical poetry and elusive musings overflowing from the indigo child that has never left me, even as I’ve aged.

It’s where I long to watch the birds, sing about them, and sketch each one I see.