I live my life through the words I write
Just as soon as I am laughing and smiling,
basking in the warm afternoon sun,
the clouds come back
and the fog settles in,
pushing me back down, down to the ground again.
In an instant everything changes.
How can it happen so fast?
I scarcely had time to enjoy being happy
before my mind took it away again.
Knowledge and behavior
relate and connect to each other in numerous ways,
but their connection is not direct,
nor guaranteed.
When the scale unbalances,
the ripples extend beyond the water’s edge.
Knowledge, thought, reasoning,
have always tipped the scale unbalanced for me,
casting waves upon the shoreline
drenching the stubborn human on the shore
who does not move out of the wave’s path.
But now is the time for change.
Now is the time to move my feet
around in the sand,
listening to and understanding the water
and responding to it.
Now is the time to shift the scale
back into balance.
One whole person
cannot fill your cup completely
other than you.
One you can fill your cup,
which cannot sustain with only one
ingredient.
Explore, discover, ask,
how different people, places, thoughts,
can fill your cup
in a combination so unique to you,
it dances back into your eyes
like a mosaic,
imperfectly perfect.
I feel the noose wrapped around my head,
my mind,
dragging me around like a wilful-less puppet
telling me what to think, and how.
Dragging me along in the gravel
my body sprays small pebbles up and around,
ricocheting off all the people cowering,
trying to grab hold of me as I fly past.
Scrapes and wounds and blood
decorate my skin.
The noose loosens,
momentarily.
Strength remains in my legs, arms and mind,
despite the injuries sustained, scarred, and healing.
I will stand up, and resist the jerking tug of rope,
taking my hands to release the knots
and drop a limp piece of rope to the ground.
Tower over it, I will, casting my shadow,
resolving to remind myself
no matter how often it takes,
that the rope will not control me.
The most troubling of anxieties
shattering of hearts
conflicting of minds
magnetic of smiles
and piercing of eyes
create the best poetry.
From the smouldering coals and ashes
deep down within me,
you found the one ember still alight
and reignited the flame.
The flickering lights in my eyes,
heat building on my skin,
sparks jumping through my heart,
you brought it all back.
Perhaps we can leave it at that,
perhaps that’s enough.
Perhaps that’s what you were meant to do
for me,
and nothing more.
Maybe I don’t need to be here or there,
one place or another,
black or white.
There must be shades of grey in between
across the spectrum,
where we can still be together
but get as close to the black and white
as we can
without losing the grey completely.
Maybe I can have pieces of it all
without inflicting self-destruction,
without being all-or-nothing.
Maybe all I need to do is ask.
So many words
by so many people
out there,
telling me not to trust myself
telling me how to find my purpose
telling me how to take control of my life.
There is so much noise filling my head
telling me to do this or that,
that I cannot trust myself
and I likely do not have control of me,
leaving me in a disarray
screaming into a pillow
in an attempt to escape the noise.
I spend more time reading about
and listening to
people who preach what to do,
by the time I’m done
I feel more confused about what to do
than before I started.
Wise are these words, yes,
but so too are those within me
which have led me to who
and where I am now.
Perhaps they deserve more attention
than those screaming at me from
beyond,
as they whisper softly from within,
“I know how to help you.”
I have stayed away,
kept my distance,
for fear that if I came too close
and opened the door
the tidal wave would erupt,
tearing down the door and the frame
with nothing to stop the water
until it slowed down to a stream.
I thought I needed time,
more lumber and nails,
to build the frame stronger
to make it withstand the force
building. I could feel it building
against the back of my eyes
within the cage of my chest
around the bones in my hands.
To wait just a while longer
would allow the wave to rescind
and I could open the door just a crack,
letting out the water I wanted,
under my control.
Believed this, I did.
Now, here I stand,
with the door open wide
and only a trickle of water passing
around and over my feet.
The anticipated wave is gone,
and only a small, calm pond lies
in the distance.
I was ready for the wave.
I expected and wanted it.
Still it has not come
leaving my dry skin uncomfortable
like a garden yearning to grow
with the promise of rain
that never delivers.
The wave will come again I know
to not be denied past my door.
I can only guess when or where
but I will be there
armed with paper and a pen.
Please, I ask for your patience
as I chip away slowly at the wall
dividing you from me.
I understand the divide it enforces
because I feel it too,
although most times, I enjoy it.
That’s the problem,
for you despite it.
Keep trying I will,
to knock it down and prevent rebuilding
when I look the other way.
Dawning Words 