I am always glancing behind
Like an impulse, like a safety check.
Do I have the strength to keep moving?
Am I prepared to let go?
Making sure my intuition reinforces
What my mindless autopilot already knows,
That whenever I attempt to lunge forward
I am consistently propelled back
As if flung by an invisible barrier
As if magnetized back on track,
To my soul’s safest landing place
Where the hidden aches are finally seen
In the cobwebbed halls where healing occurred
Drawn to that space between reality and dream.
The Therapy of Words 