march tenth. the tenth march.

there is this disconnect

and i can't find the right wires

can't pick up the wireless signal

can't sort out the password

i just am.

walking in the door hands empty, palms up, arms open.

hope it's enough.

the talking turned to screaming.

i blasted the sky with my ranting and raving.

if anyone were to see, i'm sure they'd suspect lunacy.

i am the first bird singing in the middle of the night

calling the sun out to play

stirring the rest of the birds from their slumber

but singing from joy? or from sorrow?

singing out of hope or out of despair?

singing in my sleep… at rest

or just calling out in anxiety.

is it just that my screams sound pretty because i've gotten so good at phrasing it?

too polite?

the bottom line is that i don't feel like this is enough.

i keep adding to and subtracting from this genius design.

wrestling my maker.

diminishing his art. comparing to others. afraid to rest in this skin...

where just beneath the surface is something beautiful and teaming with life.

just enough shows to make everyone believe i'm a contented peaceful girl.

but i feel shut up and dormant, like an old abandoned house.

haunted and full of memories craving… groaning to be occupied. for vacancy to be over

and spilling over with laughter instead of melancholy broken furnishings.

passed over, the ghosts are getting angry.

every bone, fibre and strand aches.

and this is why the agonizing silence…

because as soon as i write, it's like the wound splitting open…

the blood released

but reminding me of the reality. of the depth. of the ache…

inviting feeling where there was a numbness.

inviting life to the barren wilderness.

reminding me of just how very livid i am.

a child once again, begging for a crumb of goodness.

begging for these wrongs to be made right.

because i don't want to be forgotten anymore.

adorned with empty promises

like cars without engines.

ever waiting.

my hope is deferred and my heart is sick.