Unwritten love letters clutter my desk, and I run away from nowhere to nowhere in a frenzied attempt to clear the space of memories from a future yet unlived.
My mirror is broken and I see at least two images of myself, deceptive in their familiarity, treacherous in their verisimilitude. Looking at them, I want to embrace the more flattering me while my implacable internal critic tells me that I am the other. Knowing they are both wrong, I have a feeling that I will only find myself if I have the courage to finish shattering it all and finding myself in the bloody shards that will ultimately reveal to me both the inescapability of pain, the absolute necessity of crushing the lie reflected back to me, and the implacable truth that patience is what will ultimately bring forth the future for which I long with cut, glass-encrusted hands.
Where from here, then, if not to here, this very same spot where life reminds me that it cannot be put on hold while I wistfully wish it would hurry along?
Having learned that I am unafraid of risks, I still need to tech myself not to squander my energy just because I am willing to fling myself into open space just to see if I land on my feet. I usually do land on them, but it takes a toll on my knees, and I want them healthy so that one day theyll feel weak for the right reason.
Time is not cruel, it just has no mercy. That line is not mine, but poetry does not belong to those who make it, only to those who need it; I am a thief twice over.
My mirror is broken and I see at least two images of myself, deceptive in their familiarity, treacherous in their verisimilitude. Looking at them, I want to embrace the more flattering me while my implacable internal critic tells me that I am the other. Knowing they are both wrong, I have a feeling that I will only find myself if I have the courage to finish shattering it all and finding myself in the bloody shards that will ultimately reveal to me both the inescapability of pain, the absolute necessity of crushing the lie reflected back to me, and the implacable truth that patience is what will ultimately bring forth the future for which I long with cut, glass-encrusted hands.
Where from here, then, if not to here, this very same spot where life reminds me that it cannot be put on hold while I wistfully wish it would hurry along?
Having learned that I am unafraid of risks, I still need to tech myself not to squander my energy just because I am willing to fling myself into open space just to see if I land on my feet. I usually do land on them, but it takes a toll on my knees, and I want them healthy so that one day theyll feel weak for the right reason.
Time is not cruel, it just has no mercy. That line is not mine, but poetry does not belong to those who make it, only to those who need it; I am a thief twice over.
I know how to use everyday shooting the shit vocabulary. I write exactly what I am thinking complete with sound effects. Unlike you, I am fluent only in English. I try to pick up on Portuguese though. Thats to humor my son whose father is 1/2 Portuguese. His family got him saying simple phrases so I try to pick them up so it looks like I know everything. But I really dont. But my son doesn't know that. His grandmother's family name is De La Jesus. So, my son asks me one day what that means and I try to translate because I know simple Spanish but it came out "of Jesus". And that opened up a huge can of worms because I dont believe in anything religious at all. So, I had to explain that Jesus is just a nice guy that people write stories about. Aaaargh! Nothing is easy! Is it? -a.