to seethe poisonous words to unknown faces.
To dance wildly; rash and raw.
To scream, sing, and seize
some sort of life left in me.
A self-diagnosed disorder
of the catatonic;
need to force a pulse to fool the mortician.
Laugh,
for laughter's sake.
Shake and break these chains
of delirium.
I am hesitant to cover your smooth pages
with my cluttered words.
A 200-page commitment.
And yet, I forget that it is only then
that you fulfill your purpose;
I would be doing you a disservice
by leaving you on display.
My pen was destined for your lines;
Intertwined in spontaneous ramblings,
and thoughts that mimic genius.
A willing ear, a sounding board,
My unusual friend.
It's funny how you can compartmentalize your life to the point where you forget where you've been and what you've been through. I'm almost 24, and sometimes I feel barely 18. I see students going to college, and for a split second I think "I should be doing that". Oh wait, I already did...two years ago. That is why I love journals and journaling...essentially it's a poignant reminder of who I am and where I've been. Changes you've gone through are so much more apparent when you can remember what place you started from.
Hope. It tends to sneak up on me in the most normal of moments; a welcome surprise.
It looks like this. Walking home from a run around Wash Park with a couple of new friends, the gorgeous weather speaking of lovely things to come, and life is full of possibility. Hope.
Sitting at a coffee shop, drinking a delicious latte. Sitting, watching Pearl Street through the window and feeling at home. Hope.
At dinner with old friends, bellies full of delicious food and laughter. I realize that I am completely comfortable in my own skin among these people. Hope.
Walking through my backyard to the door, smelling the rain. Noticing how it makes everything greener, and somehow new. Hope.
I love those moments. They are my focus and my fuel.
