I live my life through the words I write
Hovering over the page
filled with worry
of wasting my time
of producing nothing of value
finally, after all this time, realizing
that I don’t have to offer
what I believed.
I can no longer be afraid
of making shitty art.
Art is art.
Holding back, holding out,
for the perfect words to come
has led to weeks of nothingness.
Making the less-than-desirable, the difficult,
the imperfect,
moves me forward.
Look for me
on the edge of the sun
in the blend of yellow and blue
and white,
on the edge.
I’ll be on the edge
waiting for you.
I cannot remember a more vivid dream
than the artistry
which played behind my eyes
as the morning sun slowly adorned my eyelids
and danced with me.
You danced with me.
You held me, listened to me,
and it felt so real
I could feel your skin on mine,
I could hear your voice, familiar.
It was as though you were waiting for me,
like you have been waiting for me
all this time,
more than I deserve.
Then, simultaneously
my eyes open and well with tears, to realize
it was all in my head.
I want to believe in my body
I want to believe we can do this,
that we were meant to do this.
I know she’s strong
I know she would do amazing
come through on the other side
successful.
I know she’s capable of anything.
I know her
and I want to believe in her
but with every month that passes
it feels harder and harder to believe.
Maybe,
I don’t know my body that well after all.
Waiting
any day now
betting
on whether the blood will come
the same way
I’ve waited and betted
on countless days before.
Maybe I was looking at the wrong one
all along.
Were you there, in the background,
waiting for me to realize
and see?
I think I see it now.
I think I see you now,
at last.
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 