Leah Johnston Art: Photography and Poetry

I brace myself for another
repeat.
The inhale/exhale of all things.
I ask myself
If I can handle
The ebb and flow
Which will sustain
And eventually damn me.

Does it matter if I don’t have a choice?

I feed the meter.
I read the scriptures.
I heed the words of my elders
Who tell me
To stitch sturdy knots in the fabric of my potential
Who tell me
To fear the great and inevitable
Consequence.

My skull is seething
I feel my bones begging
For a revolution that may never come
When I may cast off the shackles of polite existence
And go back
To eating berries.