In the rubble

I am surrounded by the rubble of all the things I thought I knew
Smouldering, burned remnants of a structure I’d constructed so unconsciously
Ash and debris whirl in the air, whipped by the winds into a defiant dance in the midst of the destruction.
In the void that is at the centre, I am.
Aware, brutally, starkly aware of my own lack:
Alone.
And the truth lies beneath
Like an itch too deep under my skin for me to reach.
I scratch.
A wise man once said that our suffering is peeling off and revealing a new skin, a new power:
Suddenly, I am a snake, wrestling to be free of my skin,
Writhing in the rubble, raking my old self over the jagged edges
Tearing at the bits that cling
Madwoman, desperate to be free.
I am my own creature, peeling myself free of a skin decorated by the needs and expectations of others.
The truth.
I do not exist for you.

I am surrounded by the rubble of all the things I thought I knew
In the midst of the destruction, I dance, defiantly, my hair whipped by the winds that swirl around me.

In the void that is at the centre, I am.