Trying To Make Sense of Me

I keep thinking I am going to put down this page. It was fun at first, but now I struggle with what I want from it. I go internal writing words for myself to myself, knowing this is a safer place to be. Then, as I begin to end my notes ready to turn to the next page, I realize there is more to this public page waiting for me. I was working on the next Sunday Scribble today, trying to find words that fit. I decided to search through old writings to see if something could inspire me…then I came across the poems below. They were fleeting thoughts between life happening, I already forgotten I had written them.

When I read the poems I realized, I still have more on this page for the world. I don’t know if my words will ever spur more then a few observers to this page, or if I will write that book that’s been brewing in my head forever. I do know writing is a part of me. I can’t let it go, so much so, that it grows bigger everyday. Bigger then a personal journal…bigger than me. I twist words in my head to figure out how I can change them into something new as a daily habit. When I share a moment with friends, always words are forming in my head to describe the movement of it – as though just being is an overture for the world to hear. All the while, an undercurrent forms of a different story completely from me, built from the world around me…I want to share it more than anything. Is this impulse, this desire what it means to be a writer?

Creating (written 4/2/06)
Creating.
Born from it,
every cell in me
yearns
to grow words
into phrases
into lines
into stages
that change
the beginning
to something else in the end.

Creating.
Raised with it,
a comfort
when no words
were given,
no sounds driven,
like the ones
I created softly in my head.

Creating.
Forged in it,
like a phoenix
from the flame,
wings mighty,
eyes alert,
when all things
change,
this is the one
truth
that can be said.

Intimacy (Written 4/23/06) Dedicated to Beansprout
Finding self is an epic story
It’ll take a lifetime to read.
We all are bound for our own glory
It’s just about finding out what we need.

I found a dance between the evening and morning
Stepping between the cracks that I made.
I found laughter at Dinner tables
While sipping bad coffee.
I found truth in my own handwriting
I found voice while learning it’s all about timing -
Under impressions that doubt wasn’t gonna fade.

Finding self is an epic story,
It’ll take a lifetime to read.
We all are bound for our own glory
It’s just about finding out what we need.

In all this searching, settling down into me,
Knowing one thing, finding is searching
For a compass to direct me.
‘Cause I found out that all this genuine
Is me finally saying, I am so In to me, see.

Finding self is an epic story
It’ll take a lifetime to read.
We all are bound for our own glory
It’s just about finding out what we need.

Unfolding (written 5/11/06)
Driving down this road,
my little girl riding shot gun,
and my future in the back seat.
I catch her,
grey haired and wrinkled eyes,
in glimpses in my rearview mirror.
I know she is
watching
out from behind.
Letting go of knowing the answers,
I drive down unexplored highways
just using the skills
I have in navigating my time.
The future is ahead,
the past behind,
and I am in the middle driving down Route 9.
My little girl has come to trust me
and the path I choose to take,
‘cause she knows there's something brewing,
something I’m gonna make.