the conflict of lonely and alone

being alone is a heart-opening thing

and the solitary self comes alive when alone,

yet the yearning of lonely brings bitter-sweet tears

that fall on a cheek with a splash and a sting.

 

the bitter turns sweet when a spine feels the comb

of fingertips intent on opening the heart,

yet the yearning of lonely brings tears for fears,

and that solitary self plays a part.

 

My response to day 14 of NaPoWriMo 2016: write a san san

my creative heart

inktuition creative heart

my creative heart has been

beating but not seen,

patiently not known,

hoping, lying in wait

that one day, like this,

I would notice its pulse

and take heed of its sounds

listen to its beat,

see all its signs,

act on its guidance.

Create, at last,

what makes it sing.

A full-hearted swing

at life’s infinite joy.

(pic courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/cuteimage)

a boundary and a butterfly

you mess me about, afraid to commit,

and I let you get away with it.

 

I’m scared that if I pin you down

you’ll punish me by flying away.

 

So do I let you flit among my flowers,

skim the best of my summer blooms,

 

while deep in my roots I feel unrest

as I’m sapped of what keeps me whole?

 

Or do I insist you choose a stem to sit on

that won’t always bend to your whim,

 

and risk losing your custom for good –

though at least I won’t be short-changed?

when people compliment my writing…

 

I shrug and say it’s normal:

what’s so special about what I write?

I also kind of feel a fraud

‘cos it comes so naturally to me.

I just sit at the laptop and type,

without having to re-read back.

I know that what’s come out

is final, total, complete.

So, when people add me to writerly feeds

I wonder what they see in my words.

It’s as natural to me as breathing and dressing.

So where’s the speciality in that?

clawing the courage to say no

The agony of my indecision

had done my head right in.

The hurting of my inner child

had left my true self wilting.

The logic part had made up its mind.

The fragility, it was a fraying:

teetering in, about to give way

a lifetime battle drilling.

So, where could the courage come from,

to say a crucial ‘no’ some time?

Perhaps it stemmed from dark-down stuff

that finally said ‘enough’.

Reasons to stay, urges to go

Reasons

Walk in, chat, feel welcomed and held.

I’m rated by bosses, part of the meld.

Means a lot to belong, when everything else

could be me, alone, days become dense.

 

Urges

It’s regular work, though boring old admin

that takes me away from what I’ve been yearning.

Bored. Hate it. Feel something else is calling.

I can teach, write, blog, and be free.

 

Reasons

Fear of unknown is what keeps me here

and a deep-down blankie of safety.

If I leave, what’ll become of my time:

squandered, wasted, wishing-well drowned?

 

Urges

I can meet new people, be open to new things

Be alert and fit, not a slave to alarm rings.

 

Reasons

Can’t trust myself to follow my dream.

End up bereft, broke, regretting my tears.

 

Urges

Run out of urges. Can’t remember the pull

to be free of misery, detached from the dull.

 

Reasons

Perhaps there’s a part of me that isn’t done yet.

Maybe a lesson to learn, an unspun pirouette?