scribbling again (?)
How precious to share the same sun as those before you
Knowing your grandmother once slept under the moon you do each night.
You live for yourself in the footsteps of the generations behind you
With only more and more paths to unfold just from given destiny.
My ghosts have become a chip on my shoulder
As my friends seem to go missing
I sit and count everything I live for.
Very rarely does this happen in my world today.
I should start carving out more time for this
I should start believing in a disgusting romance
Just like I had done only a few years ago.
I should remove “I should” out of my vocabulary
and start to say “I do” or “I am” or whatever.
In dedication to that day in May
As golden rays danced along the cement of East Broadway
A picture I wish every human could breathe in
Chattering gossip of different stories engulfed me in a panorama
I heard that heartbeat once again.
As the beautiful world welcomed me back in.
Once you remember that you're an ant
Why do you trouble what others may perceive you as?
No one quite remembers a fool- only the joy radiated.
A joy that yanks me around like a puppeteer toying with their marionette
Even on my awful days
When my back makes me limp and whine.
From holding numb tension that is stored in my mind.
I get very jumbled.
As I wear the many hats I choose to place on my head.
Constantly ticking; worried about wasted potential
Jumbled as I get home with no one to care of me,
With blisters on my left toes
Struggling to give myself a pep talk
just
to get
one
minor
task
complete-
the only time i ever feel lonely.
This morning, I want to thank whatever higher power chose to make the sky that bright pink color I love so much.
Though the life I used to live is now foggy and this new one is a hurricane
I can acknowledge there are things around me that have remained the same.
Just like this pink sky.
So, as the happy and sad changes twist and turn my head in every direction
There’s a new sense of calm and wonder
As I acknowledge our world of hidden joys and hopes.
Sitting down to scribble; indenting stale notebook paper
To make sense of this new Oz I was dropped into.
“Heaven only knows.”
I think the structure of this writing is off, I think a lot of this seems spotty and unknown. But, we can appreciate a revival.