Without

Wonder what it's like
to go a day
Without it

A day without
the stink
and loneliness
A day without
the memories

A day without
laughter or
provocative thought
Or a day without
Regret

What must it be like
to have a day without
family

Or a day without
some possibility of
Love

I wish for a day
without worry
I wish for a day
without guilt

I just want a
day without it
All

Without the
Burden
and the weight
without the
darkness of the
light

Just a day
to be in
the moment.

Wrapped

Winding like a vine
Around a flower
Winding like a vine
Around a dream

To dream in a
Moment
To believe in
An Instant

To think it
Could all be True....

The thought is
Wrapped around
My emotion

The thought is
Wrapped around
An idea...

I see because
I Am looking
I believe because
I have will...

It is me
It is you
It is togetherness

There sat a boy in turmoil
Noises in his head
The constant flicker
Of light and
Confusion...

There sat a girl trapped
Inside a body
That didn't respond
The way other
Bodies do...

To see the world
Only from the
Inside

To see the world
With no
Response

I sat with you
On a day like
Any other day...

I held your hand
I held your wonder
I held each dream
You dreamed

I wept for you
In private
And lauded you
In public

I believed in you
Always...

The spirit you gave
To me
The strength within
Of which I never
Deserved...

My love
My inspiration
The reason that I
Live.

Who knows?

I’m not new to this

Apprehension

The doubt and the fear

To speak without

Boundaries…

 

I’m not new to this

Discomfort

Of knowing

Another

Person…

 

I’m not new to this

Notion

That chances

Lead you

Nowhere

 

Another

dead end

Where you’re

Left

Alone…

 

I’ve lived before

I’ve won and

Lost

I know the way it

Goes…

 

But I keep

Going

Afterall…

Who ever knows

Who knows?

 

 

 

Coffeehouse Dreams

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think some people are under the impression that because I have a blog, I am somehow oozing with confidence.  I know I think that about others who write blogs or otherwise publish their writings.  But me, confident?  It couldn’t be further from the truth.  Every time I post a blog or a poem, I literally cringe with apprehension.  I reread it three or four hundred times to make sure that it is not stupid.  I check and recheck the spelling and grammar.  I check the definitions of words that I know I know just to make sure I know them.  Even after all that agonizing reflection and self-assurance, I am still convinced that what I have written is in fact, stupid.

The experience is the exact opposite of confidence.  I liken it to standing naked in front a room of people.  It is the uncomfortable feeling of knowing you are exposed.  It is the slight feeling of shame that maybe you showed too much of yourself.  It is a brutally embarrassing, ego crushing expression of what lingers inside.

So why do I do it?

Writing is one of the few things I ever set out to do intentionally.  I wanted to write.  It didn’t matter if I was good or bad at it.  It held my interest when nothing else could.  I wrote for my high school newspaper and literary magazine.  In college, I sat in a smoky coffeehouse and wrote countless poems about all the wonder and all the pain and all the hope a young girl could have.  There was a post-college period of time when I had stopped writing.  I grew up and gave up on silly words.   I hadn’t written anything in years.   It was after my ten year class reunion that I took up writing again.  I was having a conversation with someone (I wish I could remember who) and we were talking about careers.  I was not yet a teacher at the time and when I shared that I was in property management, the person said “hmmmm….I just assumed you would have become a writer or an English teacher.”  That comment lingered with me and though I was at a point in my life far away from any inspiration, I started writing again and soon after went back to school to seek a career in education.  Why had I ever stopped writing or chasing my silly coffeehouse dreams?

When I think about what I have to give to the world, all that I can come up with is my work, my words and my love.  I don’t have children that will be left to change the world.  I don’t have much of a legacy to leave.  But I do have these thoughts and feelings that somehow live inside of me.  What is the point of keeping them to myself?  All that will do is make me normal.  I don’t wish to be normal, however uncomfortable and vulnerable and agonizing and embarrassing as that might be.  I don’t wish to be normal.  I just wish to be me.

So go create stuff.   Even if it makes you uncomfortable, do it anyway.  If you’re nervous, it means you’re living.  Put yourself out there and see what happens.  The people who truly love you will love anything you create.

Inconceivable

And it was
And it is
And will always be
Something

Untouchable
Unimaginable
Inconceivable
A mere notion of
What life might be......

Do not have
Expectations
Do not wonder
About things
Unknown

Do not wish
Dare not wish...
Of any possibility

Your life didn't begin today
Or yesterday
Or the day before
And it won't begin
Tomorrow

And you...
In all your glory
Are nothing but a
Story.

Go to rest,
It's not your day
Nor may it be
Tomorrow

But maybe,
Just maybe
Will you dream
Tonight.

Random Conversation

It was a moment

Understood

Or misunderstood,

Who knows?

I don’t speculate

About random

Conversation

But the way

You held

Your

Coffee cup

Led me to believe

You have

Something

To say.

I can see your

Thoughts

Jumping off

Your brow

With careful

Contemplation

And your eyes

Dilate as you

Think.

I wonder

When it will

Be

Wonder when

It might

Happen

That you will

Realize

All your gifts

And dare to

Share them.