Unlocked.
There may be no better time than this right second
Right where’s you’re standing
In the breath you’re taking
There may be no other time than today
Because yesterday, though it lingers, is too late
Because tomorrow is too far away
There may not be another chance
To step forward
To step into the fray
There may not be any others who understand
Who will care
Who will try
There you go with conviction
With truth
With heart
There you go
Traveling with gods
Traveling through your door.
Really trying here
Think I may burst
I’ve never been patient
But this is too much
The waiting
Hurts to breathe
I can wait the half hour for the cake to bake
I can wait for the show to be continued
I can wait for him to take his coat off before I grab and hug and greet him
The minutes in the waiting room are intolerable
The magazines suck
The rug is ugly
The people are all trying too hard to be silent and avoid eye contact
And some are waiting to hear if they’re dying
I don’t know how I can sit here waiting to be poked and prodded
When I’m screaming so loudly
My head is pounding
They may have to pick me up off the floor
Really trying to be mindful and joyful
But this blows
The waiting
The ugliness
The choking back fear and trying to look normal
Ah, now it’s my turn.
I wish to heartily thank my supporters and friends and followers! I have had words stuck in my head all my life and it’s taken me to my middle age to write them down.
I’m working on a book of poetry to hopefully be published this year; up to six months ago, I would laughed at that idea.
I am particularly proud of the connections I’ve made with other writers. We should revel and share in our journeys and support each other as we have chosen similar modes of expression.
“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful pour out.” – Ray Bradbury
Hail, queen of the idiots!
I am to be revered for all my quirks and foibles.
You must feel like bowing in the face of such incompetence.
Or at least feel like running away.
No truer words need be said besides touting all the times I’ve tripped and erred.
I’m not sure I’d recognize the right path no matter how well trimmed and lit;
I much prefer making things hard on myself.
Life may be difficult, but I only wallow in comfort when I’m in extreme discomfort.
Have things ever gone smoothly?
Of course but the times were fleeting at best.
Do we rise to our stupidity? Sink to our depravity?
What makes us keep trying?
Do connections really count or is all the time we spend an excuse and distraction from the torment we hold at bay, the fate that we know lurks around the corner.
Hope abandoned long ago, my heart has atrophied.
The only fluttering I feel is the moths flying out of the closet.
I know they can’t look at me. It’s too hard to look and not see the ghost hovering. With each step, it’s more apparent; with each thought, it becomes clearer.
How does one face down a venerated villain? Especially when it seems you’re the only one willing to remove the rose-colored glasses? The very things you fear and despise and run away from in others are just lying in wait inside you, waiting for the right moment to reveal their terrible glory.
We all want to celebrate the good moments but we dwell and wallow so much easier in trauma and drama.
So I’m allowed in polite society but held at arms length. They can’t let me forget I belonged to someone somewhere, just not them, not here. I nod and try to follow along but I just don’t understand what they’re saying. The more people that show up, the lonelier I feel.
I decide to take a walk at night. The ghost is almost a solid apparition now. With little imagination I feel the old scars opening to new wounds. Haven’t we traveled this road often enough we don’t even need the streetlight anymore? The air is heavy, warm, and smells of summer rain.
I know this is how it will be when it’s my time to be a ghost. I know how the air will feel, how the words will taste, and how it will sound when all is quiet but for our steps. I know they’ll continue to look right through me when I’m a ghost.
I just want them to turn and look now, for I am very much alive and curious and ready and present. If they can ignore the ghost that watches, we can move forward. I am not an apparition; I am flesh and light and song. There will be time to quiet and soothe old hurts. There will be room to stretch and grow and plant things. But not until they see only me can we put aside old dreams and make new ones.
The Word Rummager 