Melodramatic song…the words have brought to fruition…all my wrongs.
Familiar verses of lazy melancholia…shakes a being to the core.
To give in.
The ‘out running’… being off-key.
I have heard enough of ‘not good enough.’
Laying myself to rest.
Ear to the wall, screams fade into make-believe.
worse off than me.
With the blessings, some days,
not so plain,
not so I can see.
I could pepper,
with education bought but barely learned.
Analogies in a recycled plastic bags.
Refuse or re-use philosophies in a well used…consignment store tag.
Everyday awakened by the winter-bird.
Aroused by spring lyrics…dramatic an absurd.
Some days, I am not the woman, I hoped to be.
Always an art form…
this thing called,
A lifelong practice in the effort given unto futility.
She comes from to time.
Asking me, ‘what is it you hope to find?’
You suit up everyday assuming nothing will get in the way.
Course, I always ask, again, ‘what is it that you say?’
She turns a perfect mane from…
my constant journey.
A woman’s nursery rhyme,
daily quaff of the physique.
When I look into those big green eyes…
picturing her swagger and smirk.
My vain attempts at spirituality.
‘Tis the humans conditioned response to reality.
I know what will go unsaid with her delicate nature.
Her effortless calm.
The lack of drama.
This and much more resists human karma.
Amen to Cat nation.