Monday, August 23, 2010


Maybe you could change your mind. It's all Erika Badu and crap. Auto-pilot. Pilot light on.

Needing that flame. Needing that flame fed. You would imagine me as a wildfire. It would

have been an unforgiving burn. I was just a girl. Looking for attention, ready to be captivating.

Is that ego? More than likely. Found time to not be available. I didn't listen to Mr. Springfield, and I should have talked more to strangers, when he told me not to. I put my ear to the wall as if you were speaking to me through a glass. I looked for ghosts. We were both covered up. I realize that. Time monopolized by other things, people, or just wasted time.

I just try to better. Better than yesterday, better than before. I cant keep giving half of myself, and the rest of me concealed. I'm immune to stopping. More than ever. I'm more in tune with holding back and holding on. I should set those things loose. I still wait. I was on the mend, just around the bend. With a picnic background.

And I felt special.

Looking for volunteers to love and love the said volunteers. Now, I may be feeling some paranoia, but I promise to keep it in check. I don't have connections, only in my mind.
So I reach out. Sometimes, the reaching out is such a leap, I run right into brick walls. Covered with kudzu. Hot and cold, wrapped up in the crow's nest. Staring toward the sea. Or mountains. Or washing machine. Whichever is closest. I wont lose myself. I wont. I wont. I cant keep promises covered in knit sweaters from those old socks I thought I loved so much. I know I don't want to be crept on. I just (fill in the blank) to be told. I (fill in the blank) to stand outside with you.

Doing things in incorrect order, on the edge of oblivion, on the tip of your tongue, on the way. My profession seems no longer important and I haven't the urge to fit in. Because I fit in right here. I fit in this little spot with sufficient water to drink and living advantageously over the competition.
I swished my wine glass and layed on the rocks. I swept the porch, mowed the grass, wowed the girls and boys, and sat with a fit. I love blindly and forget my inability to hurt. I find myself in a corner longing. I talk to the cows and fret over their discomfort.

I never say enough, and I will start to open my mouth more.

No comments:

Post a Comment