I hesitate to put my poetry in my blog in fear that someone will take it and make it their own. On the other hand, some of my poetry may help others in some way shape or form. From my early pieces to the ones that swim around in my head right now waiting for me to give them birth, my "journey" can be seen, read, and tasted. Were it not for my gift, I think my life would have ended a long time ago. Depression lurks in every crevice and turn of the corner inviting me to "sleep deeply" and not be bothered with this world.
Can people give you a true perspective of yourself without tainting it with their own thoughts of what they want you to be? I don't think so.
I wonder if as an adult, have I ever had a moment when some "beastie" was not lurking around in the shadows waiting to devour me with the "meaness" of life whenever the moment presents itself. When I look out at the lake of my life, it looks placid, but believe me all hell is breaking lose underneath.
I really don't think anyone knows me well at all, although everyone acts like they do. When I ask them to be honest, they give me roses or thorns never both, never any balance. Even I know a person is not all good or all bad.
I often read that a person should be who they are. What in the world does that mean? The first thing you have to know is who you are. For some that may be easy, but or others, it may not be. I have been trying to figure out who I am for sixty-five years. When I think I have it figured out, something comes swing out of left field and I begin to question myself about me all over again. Such a occurrences really puts starch in my bloomers.
The beginning of a poem that will need some tweaking:
Who am I?
A piece of crumpled trash?
A forgotten memory?
A mere shadow of yesterday?
A whipping post for other's shortcomings?
A wounded spirit?
A being that should have never been?
A tearless totem?
Am I voiceless sorrow?
A soulless body?
(tomorrow I will explore the good stuff, right now I am feeling pretty low)
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