A friend of mine in Kenya was talking about being compressed and needed to express, but she somehow feared taking what was in her heart and exposing it. My encouragement was self expression isn’t about anyone but the expression. In some ways it’s not even about the person expressing. What self expression does is release and diffuse feelings. There is no guarantee that anything will feel different, but the feelings expand and seem to yield a little. So, in making a point she dared, I prefer the word encouraged, me to self express about something painful. I write verse and poetry for release, so I sat down and this appeared. I never post poetry so bear with me. I hope this sings a little.
It was the rarest of bleeding days,
so seldom the jigsaw core fragments,
each piece borrowing parts of the never enough me.
Spinning adrift with hard sadness and softest anger, a touch of insanity.
A shifting sheathing of tears.
A disconnected pairing.
Trying hard not to smell the stench of third-party opinion,
those exquisitely blind fools.
Advice freely given by another, an idiot’s ego.
What about this?
What about that?
Facing what is, alone, is not a choice.
Existing by default is one way, falling and not clinging, two into one or so.
Sad, alone, and sovereign.
Choking on the bitter of sweet.
On to the somewhere else, the phone dies permanently dead.
Tic tocks sang the ever spinning clock, ticking of tock.
From “Songs to be Sung Naked and Alone.” Artwork is Autodesk/Corel: “Final Dance of Everything”
Allan Watts talked about dancing to dance, not to get across the dance floor. I like that. Be well and take care of you.