This is My Bridge.

The stones I stood on
I can see them far below
under the roots of the trees of the ideas that I have grown
They are crumbled and broken
But I can still see what they used to be

I want to stand on stones again
I thought I always would
But now I stand on sticks not bricks
they creak and crack
A flimsy bridge swaying as my passage rocks it

If I focus on the sun I can almost believe
My feet are on solid ground
The wind rustling my smiles
carrying butterflies for miles and miles
A stolid staircase to my destiny

But the partially cloudy is always with me
and I can't help but hear the crack of this flimsy bridge
Phil wishes I would just get off and walk with him
But I wanna be on the bridge.
I want to cross it.
I wish it were made of stronger stuff, but still
I need it.

Inside of my belly there is a swirling black bog
howling
indecipherable syllables of encouragement and doubt and woe
bubbling
I lance the boil
Release the steaming, streaming need to know what to do about this damn path I'm on.

But then I must stuff it back in
For this is my bridge
And I am sorry
Because only I can get off of it.
Or not.
But this is my Bridge.
And I know I asked and begged for your help climbing.
and I always will.
But this is my bridge.
And I must stand on it alone.