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53 - Clarity Poem

 


53

I’ve been an onion — layers on layers, none of them simple, none of them neat.

I’ve been a Russian doll — versions inside versions, the smallest one buried for decades.

I’ve been a spinning vintage top — fast, controlled, performing balance while everyone watched, and still ending up alone.

I’ve needed constancy. Didn’t get it. Kept spinning anyway.

Now I’m 53, and I can finally look back and see my life without distortion — not through trauma fog, not through the misreadings my brain used to make.

I can see everything for what it actually was. Most people never get that far. But I did.

Clarity. Every layer accounted for.

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