Today I feel…I don’t know. So I’m just going to write letters to anonymous entities and not post this entry to Facebook.
This first one springs from today’s prompt, to write a poem addressing poems, whatever that means.
Letter to Poem
why do you speak when I write
but silent when I bid you to speak?
you frustrate and confuse me
with your off beats and
never sounding quite
like children’s nursery rhymes
but my soul dances
forcing you to move
Letters to Anonymous
You’ve been such a pleasant encounter. Like a sunny clearing in the middle of the forest where I’ve stopped to take a rest on a difficult journey. I wish I didn’t have to move on. I take it day by day though, wondering and waiting for signs pointing in the direction I’m supposed to head next. So far, nothing.
There are so many things I want but that I know won’t come true.
There are things I want to do. Letters I want to write to you, addressed to your real name, instead of under the guise of anonymous. Dinners I’d like to cook for you, places I’d like to go with you. I want to dance with you and sing with you.
You are like the poem I can’t write. The message I can’t decipher. I don’t know what to do with you.
When did we grow up? One moment I’m an awkward twelve year old, and then I turn around and find you’re all married, about to be married, or having babies.
Turning thirty, getting engaged, having adventures and buying houses with significant others, giving birth. I’m staring at pictures of this beautiful baby girl, two days old. She’s like a fresh spring morning when winter has been prolonged for far too long.
But again, when did we grow up?
In T Swift’s words, it feels “happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time.”
Scary and dazzling.