You know how sometimes, you see something and you wish you had written it yourself? (This is how I amass writer friends. I simply decide that rather than being jealous like I used to in…ahem! …ages past, I would simply befriend them.) Well, this one is one of those such things. I could have used the lesson in this when I was 16.
And 23. Heck, I could have used it not three years ago, dammit!
Ah, I miss writing poetry.
Enjoy this one.
I bind myself loosely so that you’ll see me
and not too tightly so that you can understand me
So, I come apart trying
…and you aren’t here for the pieces.
Pieces that you say will never touch floor,
Are stuck in muddy expectations
I don’t recognize them anymore-
This can’t be me
I, pour forth from generations of kings that disregard their crown
Not because it doesn’t fit but because
The weight of gold is a constant reminder
of a responsibility we constantly wish-away.
Now this is me
Hands-on, cut-the-crap, say-what-you’re-about girl
You can take this response as my ability to get up
even when I touch floor
To trust again and slide from rubble
Knowing that these cracked situations are training wheels
…I catch a bus
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