I’m tired of listening to my own thoughts, so I can only imagine how you must feel reading them.
I know what it is important in life. Love – family – serenity – service – enduring friendships.
I’m burned out on the wheel though.
If I had a magic wand, it would put me somewhere with a future. A chance to spread my wings and not have them operated by ‘must’. Must fly here – must fly there – must not touch the light.
I wrote this poem years ago, and it’s become a metaphor for what could have been.
“In memory of …” the tomb began,
I could not read much more.
My loss engraved in cold grey stone, was too much to endure.
I turned away, too pained to stay,
And walked to clear my mind.
All the while regretting what I had to leave behind.
I wish I were naked
Head held high, a peaceful smile
I wish I were unafraid of shiny things
unafraid of attention, unafraid of decoration
I wish I were playful with colours
on my lips
on my body
without disgust, without feeling garish
I wish I could be seen without needing to be bland
without fear, without disgrace
I wish I were comfortable being seen.
Flooded with fantastic thoughts,
My memory can’t retain them,
my pen cannot complete them.
Fleeting revelations mend my soul,
but my mouth fails to convey them.
I’m meek, untrained to speak them.
I have no voice.
I feel more than my sentences,
I ache to pass them on!
But just before I write them down, they’re gone.
Realizations spill into my mind
then locked inside.
I speak ridiculously,
Out loud I hear someone … and it’s me,
poorly portraying me.