This is the story of your anchor point

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This is the story where you murdered yourself.
This is the story where you made yourself anew.
This is the story of your God, your celebrity, your idol.
This is the story of your family, your mentor, your crush.
This is the story of your anchor point.

This is the story of the talisman around your neck.
Of well-worn photographs and keep sake boxes and old VHS tapes.
Of superheroes and the twig that was your wand.
This is the story of the thing you hold onto.
This is the story of the thing that keeps you holding on.

This is the story of the time your anchor isn’t quite strong enough,
Of the time it’s still enough to keep you here.
Of the red line on your wrist, bandaged.
This is the story where you ask for help.
This is the story where you begin to recover.

This is the story of a stormy sea,
And of the water-sodden ground on the other side of it.
This is the story of the time you look into the mirror,
And finally realise…
Oh, hello. This is me. I’m here. I’m home.