All at once you dragged me from
inside my cave, where I lay on dirt.
It was always dark, but predictable.
Your hand grabbed mine.
So strong, but not rough.
I couldn't object.
You pushed me into the fierce light.
My eyes stung all the way, but
eventually they adjusted.
You pulled me over mountains,
My toes skidding, heels sliding.
Watching for rough spots,
taking your time, and playing it safe
were never options for you.
As we ran through forests,
across rivers, over mountains
the landscape was a blur to my left and right.
You smudged my perfect picture.
The one where I don't care,
where I don't realize my faults.
You wouldn't let me be.
And sometimes I hate you for it.
I want to curl up like a fetus in a womb.
But if you hadn't brought me out into the sun,
I wouldn't have seen mountains,
and known that I could stomp them into valleys.