And on this anniversary of both life and death
i woke up squinting
the sun blinding from atop these prairie mountains
calling again to me in ways i am not yet ready to follow
and forward looks backwards looks weak looks entangling
i no longer have my Northern Star
. . . a lie wrapped in hope, self-deception, tears and a wounded heart
both a true and a lie in one neatly wrapped package
And i have worn out my welcome here,
a too-long couchsurfer
afraid of the world beyond that door,
seeking comfort in current surroundings and large bowls of sour cream
These tactics have grown scabs of pride and self-preservation
ever-more demanding of my attention.
This clearly is no longer working.
But my soul is stirring
change calls me from afar
1 comment:
I can't quite find the right word, but the hostility in this piece fascinates me. And the sour cream, that made it great.
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