Look at me standing here like I know what I’m doing,
Like I know where I’m going and I’m not afraid to go there.
Let the rain smash against me, plundering my very existence,
Plastering my clothes and my hair to my body like an artist
Because it sure doesn’t feel like this human being is moving.
Sometimes I wonder at the scope of my dreams, at the very breath I take.
I look back for my shadow and it’s not there, hiding, no doubt,
From the wrath of my very Catholic guilt for not becoming good.
I’m not the successful one, I’m not sure how to step forward
Into the darkness, I don’t understand how to live a life of meaning.
So does it matter if I stand in the thundering rain like an idiot
Waiting for the light to turn green, looking like I might step off the curb
And walk to somewhere and someone who might actually care?
This is a strange world and I’m a stranger in it, no doubt about that,
And damn if I can decipher my relevance in this loud stomping place.
So let the rains soak me, melt me, pound me until there’s nothing left
To gather up in this corner that I have painted as human and alive,
As hopeful and poised, even if only for a second or two.
Who says you aren’t good? Who says you aren’t successful?
Before you can live a life of meaning, you have to figure out what life means to you. What makes you happy? What makes you laugh. Sometimes, we can find ourselves by making other people happy and other people laugh.
We both think too much, feel too much. I’ve been in a funk here too lately., but, like everything else, it will pass.
I wrote these a long time ago…
Black cat
aloof, self-assured
stalking the jungles of my backyard
you are what I am not
There is no consolation
in being right
I would rather be wrong
than broken
There is no peace in foresightedness
the hurting is felt before its time
and there is no growing accustomed to the pain
don’t break my isolation
I am shielded
by my silent desperation
if no one can see the tears
then maybe I’m not really crying
Had I known then what my life would someday hold – the helplessness of being the mother of a handicapped child – would it have made that pain any less?
Probably not.
I wish I could say something to inspire you.
Sometimes I wonder if we expect too little or expect too much.
Kitty,
That was beautiful! God, you had me holding my breath as I finished it. Just . . . WOW!
Nice to see you posting again.
Miss D