I stand here on the precipice,
Trying to inhale,
Sort through the detritus
That has become us.
Our life,
Our torment,
Our grieving of the inevitable.
But the air up here is too thin
To sustain me
Or clear my thoughts.
They swarm around me,
Taunting.
A miasma of accusations:
Substandard effort
No magnanimity
Quitter
Breaker of Promises.
And then I see it.
Over there.
A better purview beckons.
Peace
From the badgering
And insolence
And perpetual derision
That fuel my self-doubt.
No assault over there.
I see light again.
Peace.
Self-trust.
Me.
.
One good leap,
Eyes closed or open,
And I will land
Someplace better.
Anywhere is better.
Leap.
Land.
Trust
6/12/2026
The Words That Got to Me
"Leap. Land. Trust." Unlike many of your poems, you refuse to give us a clever twist or the satisfaction of a final whipping off of the cloth and exposing the satisfying reveal. Here, you build up to this final decision and a leap of faith that feels fully earned.
I like it, Rachelle. This is stepping outside of your more natural style. No talk of relationships, no external people or objects. Instead, you give a look at the internal conflict. A wealth of self-critical thoughts, presented as fragments, brief glimpses into the writer's mind. You are capturing a moment of genuine uncertainty, and you never tell us what the issue is; instead, you place us alongside you as you sit at this junction. You let us watch as you struggle with the uncertainty. You trust your reader to not need the details in order to experience the emotional position you are in. That is craft.