I live my life through the words I write
Showered by the wind
fresh, new air washes over every inch
of my indoor acclimated skin,
blowing away residue of emotions, thoughts,
clinging to me still.
Walking into and with,
I feel the power of the wind
penetrate deeper than skin,
marveling at the strength to accomplish this,
a force I cannot see.
I feel renewed,
wiped clean as a slate to start again.
It tastes good in the moment
a perfect fit into all the right receptors
to provide comfort,
and love.
More must be better than a little
so indulge,
and comfort it will continue,
until it’s gone.
When you’re left, at the end,
feeling unlovable,
love yourself the hardest, then.
Taking control over me
they have climbed into the driver’s seat
to steer off in a new direction
deviating so far from where I was
and wanted to stay.
Emotions
turned free from a wild mind
to cause mayhem and disrupt the planned route,
pushing me to the cliff’s edge
without my feet ever touching the ground.
Too far to turn back around,
I cannot jump back on to the ledge
once I descend in air,
so I fall
and drag you with me.
If only I could take a firmer hold of the wheel
and stay in the lane,
I would.
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.
Dawning Words 