sparrow

just like my mother instilled in me a fear of bird lice and tetanus, my dad taught me to hate sparrows. common & pests. sparrows. my dad was an avid birder, putting out bird feeders & bird houses. planting bushes & trees just for the birds. even putting a bubbler in our pond to keep it from freezing so the water fowl could be happy (so much for ice skating…)
a million years later i find myself chasing the sparrows away from my bird feeder, hating myself for it. but longing for the chickadees & finches. the jays & cardinals. wanting to feel special…not…common.
which is funny in its own way because when i read that some people are orchids & some are dandelions and realized that i am a tender, easily damaged orchid…that i am unable to grow in the crack in the sidewalk…i was devastated. i want to be a dandelion…but maybe just for the wishes?
i do not want to be a potted plant in a green house no matter how pretty. no matter how popular. i want to be a wild flower. a song bird. i do not want to be something pampered & kept safe.
i want to be free.
a magical thing.
something glimpsed causing you to gasp & feel a tug at your soul.

melancholy baby

melancholy lives in my heart…
melancholy…that’s what i used to call my melon-colored collie.
my cat named “maud” got tagged “maudlin.”
“do you know what that means?” my first ex-husband would ask in his soft drawl
as if he could not fathom my knowingly calling my pets by my darker emotions….
maybe he did not realize
melancholy lives in my heart.
maudlin is a friend of mine.
those so-called darker emotions sometimes light my way.

more journal entries from my adventure in a free-falling spin out that triggered me to start writing in prose rather than free verse. i did not see that coming. i’m not sure if it is a good sign or a bad one.

ps. speaking of prose. i am working on releasing a collection of flash fiction & short stories. here is the cover in progress for my book coming out this year, tangled together.

the progress of this book may very well be a contributing factor to my spin out.
i’m not very good at handling good news….

no matter

the world feels void of magic & nothing seems to
matter & i am fairly certain i am doing everything
wrong. motherhood is an experiment in futility; my
manifesto a blank page forever unread. i let the
darkness envelop me knowing it won’t be forever. i
watch the pieces of my soul fly from tree to tree &
part of me wishes all of me were crows on the wind
but then i remind myself, “i still have work to do.”

okay. so at this point i have spun out to the degree that i am no longer thinking in free verse but more in a prose style. string of consciousness as social anxiety and motherhood and depression and lonely and self-loathing wrap me up in a blanket and toss me down the stairs.
watch me fly.

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