There is a Rhythm

There are days where I cannot breathe
I do not know how.
I teach myself how to breathe again
In, and out
I take in the small and beautiful parts of my life
I cough out the rot in my lungs
There is a rhythm to this, a simple thing
In, and out

There are days when I cannot open my eyes
Days when I have to relearn the simple rhythm,

It does not always come easily
Some days I find myself suffocating,
There is nothing beautiful about me when I can not breathe
There is no poetry in my burning skin and my aching head
But the sky is rather beautiful on those days
The breeze that makes me shiver also makes the world sing

I drink water
I go for a walk
I catch the clouds in a net.
In, out
I repeat until I can breathe again
It takes time.
I breathe
I get up
I take a shower
I go for a walk
I listen to music
I breathe
I repeat until it feels less impossible

My skin stops burning,
My head only aches on the bad days
(There are bad days)
I take my medicine
I lick my wounds
I breathe
In, and out
I feel the air fill my lungs in a way I did not know it could.

I was suffocating once.
The rot of the leaves that I rested my head on choked me,
The vines that hugged me softly pierced their thorns into me.
Months passed while the leaves made the soil soft for the flowers,
Months passed until the vines showed their blossoms and removed their thorns from me
I am blooming where I once was unable to breathe,
The world is blooming with me.