A line.
What does it mean?
A line that you dared not cross, because you didn’t know what was on the other side.
A line that you stood in quietly, because you were told to.
A line that became a box, which you lived in, because you believed it was safe.
A line that said, “Keep out.”
“Stop.”
“Don’t let me in.”
When you draw a line, do you draw it straight?
Linear, or does it squiggle
And zig zag ever so slightly to the left?
I used to think that a line had to be in one direction
Always looking forward
Always rooted to a point in the past
But struggling to get to the future.
And it mean division.
Between what my heart and my mind.
A line that carved itself into my chest
One that I couldn’t move or erase
And it stayed there
Daring me to cross, because it knew that I wouldn’t.
A line meant something to me then
And different to me now.
It’s a ray of light instead.
And a rotating entity that becomes
Something like the sun,
More rounded, and more whole
That was when I discovered
What alignment
For me.
Photo by Nadine Shaabana
