The Rider
Our myths are traps,
Stories that set us up
To poke at our own bruises
And pick out the staples
So tenuously holding us together.
They fill our heads with voices
That drown out those who love us
When their words don't match the message
That our first dreams
Are the only ones that count
And when we are too broken for them
There's nothing else to do.
That is, unless we can learn
To let go.
