It’s a long time since I’ve written any poetry…but I recently just did. It reminded me how healing and powerful it can be – a different way of expressing something, a different ‘vehicle’ that somehow suited what I wanted to say.
Sheepishly sharing.
Is it ok to say?
Is it ok to say? Should I share with you that thing? The quiddity that I can’t share with anyone, that my heart is an open book and my longing as endless and as vast as the swaying hips of time? Is it immodest to share that deep and true feeling that I have which dies and lives and dies and lives again? To let you know the intimacy of the soul which my-self barely knows, but which has carved my cynicism and scatters it abroad? Is it really ok – to share the rhymeless rhythm of a beating heart which defines my death and wakens the blue skies of my life? Even though our planet turns in its plastic grave and ghosting people trade their life’s guidance for the trifling price of a performance tweet. Should I share that I really really don’t care for the doomsayers and investors in despair? And that I think and feel that it’s ok to heal, and to aspire to the boldness of the human fire, the wild adventure that is the higher.