there is space here
enough for me
enough for you
if you’re kind, thoughtful
and respectful; we have room.
you don’t have to be beautiful
or conform to notions of who you should be
so long as others’ genuine needs
are okay with you,
too.
there is space here
enough for me
enough for you
if you’re kind, thoughtful
and respectful; we have room.
you don’t have to be beautiful
or conform to notions of who you should be
so long as others’ genuine needs
are okay with you,
too.
That way lies madness, dear.
Keep your eyes on the path you chose.
What might have been?
What could have been?
All dangerous conjecture.
Embrace today.
Celebrate this self, right here.
Right now.
Embrace what is.
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.NaPoWriMo Day 2 The official prompt from napowrimo.net today: Explore your own “Road not Taken”
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Ignore any ads below. Unless for Fluevog shoes, I do not endorse them.
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Your words cannot offend.
I don’t depend on faulty interdiction.
Sometimes encouragement sounds like doubt.
Mona Lisa smile betrays my conviction:
Sure knowing I will transcend.
Outside the change room,
she looked into the mirror.
Lovely,
polished,
dynamic,
and classy
in the pale blue duster jacket.
Perfectly suited her colouring.
Stunning.
“I love this,” she sighs.
“I love these on other people. I just know that I would never wear it.”
I am aghast. “You could wear it to the grocery store!” She could wear it anywhere.
But no. She left in an orange dress, that made her complexion blotchy.
I have no business being sad, that she put away a pale, blue jacket, that suited her,
because of fears I’m imagining for her.
“Do you imagine I’m conservative?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I shrug.
But she looked damn fantastic in that blue duster jacket.
I only dream
that the first time is the only time
to do something.
I only dream
that no one can find complaint
omission or regret.
I only dream
of polished perfection
in momentary introspection.
I only dream
and roll my eyes
at expectation of perfection
your rejection of infallibility
is nothing to do with me.
Just when I think there’s been a change
Just when I think the brain’s been rearranged
Just when I think obstacles have been constrained
There’s a smash, crashing return to the old
The opening petals refuse to unfold
The rebirthing story will not be told
Just when I imagine, my hope’s short-changed.
Reality is bitterly cold.
My expectations are really what’s strange.
I believed me
when I told myself I couldn’t do it.
I believed me
when I told myself nothing could be done.
I believed me
when I told myself nothing could change.
I believed me,
but I was wrong.
Tears appear;
truth pools in her eyes.
She looks out the window, scenery unseen,
one droplet, breaking free, tracks a slow progress across
cheek,
chin,
neck.
Another makes the parallel journey.
She turns her face, while she waits, wishes,
then slowly grows the knowledge
that what is
will be.
She weeps out the weakness.
While there may be grief,
acceptance brings resilience.
Resilience
is the power of belief
and relief.