Open up that window
Climb inside
I’ll take the door

You’ll look for opportunity
Inside pure calamity
And I’ll make my own

You brag about a dying breed
The life you lead
Mistrust you feed
And then you look to me

You act surprised
That in my eyes
I share your look of pity

Did you think I’d lust
For the box you’re living in?
Did you think I’d turn away
From what I’ve found within?
Did you think your boastful prose
Would shake me to my senses?
Did you truly think I’d sell my soul
To buy such weak defenses?

I know it isn’t easy
Thinking on your own
It takes some time to disregard
The bullshit we’ve been shown

But this is more than misplaced dreaming
This is more than just a fad
Some of us threw out that box
Some of us are glad

sweet moments of perception
of sipping steaming tea
of basking in the rising dawn
and humming quietly
of listening to wind chimes
and welcoming the spring
of listening to self
and embracing what it brings

conflicted
I’ve turned this beast
over and over in my mind
surveying its underbelly
looking between its toenails
and into its ugly yellow eyes.
I do not like what I see
and yet it’s unrelentingly tracking me,
keeping pace with my thoughts
refusing to be shut out until its fed
adopted and given a pillow on the floor.
This mangey mutt
keeps creeping into my mind
and playing with my principles
like a tattered rope toy
tearing back and forth
demanding I notice.
I know the both sides of this argument
I let my thoughts meander
to one side of the division
to test its environment.
I wander to the other side
and do the same
Neither yard is satisfying
neither land is comfortable
neither fits.
And so I end up sitting on this fence again.

Simplicity of simplicities
my thought awaits
some unadulterated sparrow
takes flight
and with it escapes

complexity of complexities
true blue
and turning roguish gray
feather of the aviator
on a blusterous day

toxicity of toxicities
sour on the tongue
bitter root
or bitter leaf
craving neither one

I have the heart of a writer
the mind of an artist
the soul of an activist
but for too long
have laid them dormant
under layers of supposition
and obligation

I’ve molded myself
attempted to mold my son
I’m even guilty of molding my husband
and yet have only succeeded
in forming a hard outer shell
a mask of disfiguration to hide the truth

But all along I’ve heard
that sweet music playing underneath
the notes of color floating forward
while being denied or pushed away
My eye caught
by the images of my spirit
shining in the world
beyond my well laid plans

I’ve not only built the prison walls
but appointed myself judge and warden
I’ve held myself in a grey box
fearing what lay beyond
warming myself with the future images
of the perfectly painted world
in which I thought I must reside

Such is the daunting task
of reclaiming that
which I have never fully known
Allowing an unknown plant to bloom
in a garden once over calculated
organized and assumed,
To grasp a new concept
of letting go
and allowing the vine
to simply climb
or trail as it will

and as I work
to undo the walls
I’ve built along the boundaries
of my orderly heart and soul
the words reverberate my soul

Let it be, let it be, let it be
just let it be
Whisper words of freedom
Let it be