As most people do, sometimes I feel insignificant and like my life is out of my control.
During a quiet moment, a friend and I sat down to share a bag of crisps. As I watched her just about finish the bag, I got the sinking feeling that my presence could so easily be done without.
Something so small tapped into my feelings about how fickle life can be and how there will always be something new. I took the time to explore these feelings of isolation and irrelevance and found it hugely cathartic to write. Below is a poem I wrote that I wrote to myself as a sign of self compassion.
Brown and brittle.
Golden amber sheaths cascade from the waning crown.
Inviting the passers by to stop, exhale and whisper longingly, fall.
Fall further below the facade,
To the old leaves.
That turn to mush under the weight of gilded new comers.
The blissful ambers only good for quick reapings until the grim rolls in,
The almost saplings are soon to be trounced upon.
Or covered by falling snow that erases them clean to blank slate.
But the solitary brown leaf has been carried away.
Swept up by the wind and twirled majestically in a gust of fake flying.
Only to be discarded un-cerimoniously.
Out of the way.
As golden amber, descends.
I am a fallen leaf.
Brown, brittle, broken.