Self Expression #8

Exhale

I took my first breath in the middle of autumn.

In the years that followed I held it there. 

Stuck somewhere in my throat. 

This time of year breeds a certain panic.

I can feel its motion as I watch people

rush from class to class.

Moving in straight lines 

eyes straightforward

or straight down.

A motion I clumsily follow

as I tilt my neck up to the sky,

Watching as the maroons and mustard yellows

descend neatly to the floor to join 

their brothers and sisters.

I like feeling them under my boots.

Their crunch a sign of the larger 

crisp cold that hangs in the air.

A cold that I can feel at the base of my lungs, 

replacing the bright summer sun 

I once carried in my chest.

A cold wind I often confuse for either fear or excitement

Only discernible by the speed of entry.

This is the season where I rest between this dichotomy

Of glee and fright 

Of life and death. 

Anxiety brings with it possibility 

A future unknown and unseen.

I hold my breath waiting for it.

Hoping one day to be born again 

and to let the air release.