My mother always told me
No monster lived beneath my bed,
But she had failed to warn me
It laid on top of it instead.

There is a fable in the forest
Whispered by the branches, as they blow.
A tale about the truth of leaving
Things that no longer help you grow.
For on the surface it looks simple,
Like you only need lace your boots,
But there is nothing quite as painful
As untangling your roots.
And proof is found in tree stumps
Of the price some pay to flee,
That they would cut their lives in half
To cut the time before they're free.
Yet from the little left behind
Life has been known to grow again,
For unless you take your roots
A part of you will still remain.

There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?

Because the birdsong might be pretty,
But it's not for you they sing,
And if you think my winter is too cold,
You don't deserve my spring.

Do not hold your breath for anyone,
Do not wish your lungs to be still,
It may delay the cracks from spreading,
But eventually they will.
Sometimes to keep yourself together
You must allow yourself to leave,
Even if breaking your own heart
Is what it takes to let you breathe.

Who says paper worlds
Are an escape from what is real?
As though the lives trapped in their binding
Are not ones that make you feel.
For sometimes our greatest lessons
Come from those with ink for skin,
Who reach beyond the page
To take our hand and pull us in.