Posts for June 7, 2025 (page 6)

It feels like one day I blinked
And 4 years had gone by
Like I had been living in this labyrinth of habit and routine
My feet moving without me realizing
No plans for the future,
Just surviving by day
I blinked, and I haven’t breathed since

All of my dreams and aspirations are circling around my head
Making me dizzy, foggy
They’re everywhere I look
Begging me, asking me when will I ever reach them? 

The fear of the future,
Of what’s to come
If I’ll mess it all up
Not fulfill who I am meant to be,
Drag me to my bed every night
I lay there fighting to fall asleep
With 1000 words pulling and tugging
At every part of my brain every second
I want out of this labyrinth

Will I ever make it?

There’s a part of my brain writing space opera: I wake, baffled, as vast plots unfold and civilizations are reduced to cinders.  A world oblivious begins to shatter: Our front porch railing  disappears with an electric crackle,  our nasty neighbors vanish,   transported to another dimension.  The space armada lands at Central and Unser. We’re all captives now.  Our alien jailers nowhere to be seen, but control all the boundaries.  Playgrounds and churches are off-limits, we live in techno corrals and we are part of a new commerce. But as hero, I can be subversive, rally resistance. Characters spring out of night-woven places I cannot access waking—complex plots lie buried here, chapters titled, pages numbered and indexed. Sequels in the making. My therapist would rather have me relate dreams of dad and unfinished term papers. But I’d like to pull just a couple of threads out into the dawn.

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I received a plain envelope in the mail today 
It contained a letter and a plane ticket
It said be a dear and meet me at the airport in an hour
I will be the male wearing the tie-dye shirt   

Dare I go 
I’m no fool
But full of curiosity

Will I be prey
Like a deer in headlights
Ending up as meat on somebody’s plate

I knew it was a bad idea

But here I sit in my new dress  
One eye closed
The other keeping watch
As I pray

Please don’t let me die 

the late afternoon sun hides
inviting me to as well
reclusiveness sounds delightful
so like the flowers who close nightly
I settle in for a few hour sabbath
celebrating internally, the labors of the day
I allow myself to grow
not by expansion
but by rest

took multiple trains 
in the pouring rain 

waited at the bar 
for forty five minutes 

never got interviewed 

walked out 

into the sunshine 
in soaked socks 

When the Crazy Frog
comes on no one can help but
dance dance dance dance dance

Spinning freely,
                              excitedly,
                                                 expressively,
                                                                          with childlike abandon
Moving quickly,
                              lightly,
                                           supplely,
                                                            like a deer with graceful fluidity
Footwork rhymically,
                                        easily,
                                                    smoothly,
                                                                       as agile as nimble fingers knitting
Communicating bodily,
                                           creatively,
                                                               wordlessly,
                                                                                    telling visual, visceral stories
Executing deftly,
                             masterly,
                                               intelligently,
                                                                       physical steps of spiritual expression

I see myself in the nun walking by
as I read on a bench in the sunshine.
She of the short grey hair,
a man’s shirt, cleanly laundered,
wash and wear, drapes over her
navy cotton slacks.  She proceeds
with purpose, one hand wrapped
behind her back.  She looks down
as she walks, serious, contemplative.

I’ve always said I could pick a nun
our of a lineup.
Sturdy, no-nonsense–
plain, unadorned faces.
They would be nurses.  You could
trust them with your life.
You can be sure they have books
checked out of the library
and that they’ll return them.

You Smirked
like a no more tricycle training wheels, big girl
and assured me of my ignorance
because
‘I didn’t know how to get what I want’ 
because I hadn’t mastered the woe is me,
Naive Mama, 
distressed damsel,
play pretend bargaining talk 
required of a Cruella in search of her breeder. 
My mind wanders,
now,
more than before-
or maybe,
I am finally admitting that it wanders
more than before
the unraveling
of my spontaneity invited
apathy to stay awhile,
to spread itself over my heart,
to tuck itself in
around my skin
my knuckles
– a kaleidoscope reaction to too many
moral calamities

How I long for the days when cold cola still felt like a healthy swallow.