#1/30 - 2014

[#1/30 2014: Write a beginning poem. It's cheesy and it's rife with cliches and almost-rhyme scheme, but hey. It's done.]

Fresh Meat

This year is to be the year of new things,
I can feel it.
But more than that, I can
do it.
For the first time
in a long time,
I have followed through--
For the first time
in a long time
I've started something completely new.

I haven't worn roller skates since I was maybe eleven,
elbows dragged on carpet walls
as I tried to stop with grace
and no muscle.

I never quite knew how to use them--
my wheeled feet, I mean.
Muscles too weak to keep them in any one direction at a time
joints not forgiving enough to allow for every direction at once,
balanced as precarious as a gawky middle school giraffe
with just as many knobby knees.

My brother cracked his skull on that sparkly roller rink floor once.
I remember going to the hospital
and following my rock to the bathroom--
Dad couldn't handle punctures in his young one's skin.
My brother, always the injured,
a constant state to which I played the sarcastic
albeit meek, and ultimately less intrepid counterpart
My always-broken brother took the fall enough for us both.

But here I am
padded to the gills
and feeling just as helpless.
I feel my legs give out and a single instant of pure fear
when a hand comes out and grasps my own
If ever I thought I couldn't begin again
and needed a stubborn push
it was in that moment.
But I held Slam's hand for the lifeline that it was
and pushed off once more. 

I can do this.