He sits down and
Immediately opens his
Huge mouth and says
Something ridiculously
Offensive about someone
He’s never met or
Something he knows
Absolutely nothing about,
A smug smile covering
His ordinary face,
Not an ounce of insight
Clouds his horizon.
A stupefying world of
Tepid vanilla,
Drones marching in
Unison to the call of
Conformity, each one
The same as the last,
Quick-drying cement
Encasing creativity,
Voices muffled,
Flowers trampled.
We walk down to the water,
Pails and shovels in hand,
Soft shuffling of expectant steps.
Kneeling in magical pools
Nestled in rocks lined with sand.
Warm breeze comforting,
Sun infusing us with contentment,
Gentle waves lapping.
You next to me, commenting on
The little creatures in their dainty
Homes, a secret world of
Shimmering, rippling light.
We talk about nothing in particular
And everything.
It begins to
Come into focus.
The incessant quest
For acceptance.
The need to be
Part of the in group.
The endless judgments
And expectations.
The need to
Cater to others.
The sacrifice
Of self.
The urge to
Escape from it.
How that one brief
Moment has impacted
Everything, each
Subsequent occasion,
A constant conflict
Between what is and
What might have been,
Unfinished stories
Calling from another
Place. Staring into
The distance, another
Infinite day of
Wistful speculation,
A story rewritten but
Never completed.
I could write
The most eloquent
Speech, carefully
Enumerating every single
Exhaustively reviewed
And edited detail,
Backing up facts with
Copious evidence,
A genuine effort to
Explain my point of view,
Or simply speak from
The heart, sharing
What I feel inside,
And it wouldn’t matter.
Having been what
Other people call shy
For most of her life,
Thoughtfully observing
The world without the
Hindrance of an
Endlessly spewing mouth,
She sees things that
Others don’t and
Takes it upon herself
To be the chronicler
Of the unnoticed,
The people and occurrences
Existing in quiet obscurity,
Deserving attention
Nonetheless.
Not the same
As it once was,
I hold on desperately
To what made it so
Special, a memory of
How it used to be,
Clashing with
Present reality.
I would always get
A strange feeling
When they came around,
A persistent unease
Warning me that something
Could very easily go wrong
And had many times before.
Others seemed not to notice it,
Perhaps more familiar with
That type of energy.
I didn’t know what it was then,
But I do now and I still
Heed the voice that tells me
Something is amiss.
