Wednesday, July 22, 2009

POEM: if this wasn't me

This isn’t me
I’m the escape artist
quitting before the going gets tough
hiding from fear, from pain
I’m the one that always gets away
dented, perhaps
a little the worse for wear
but not annihilated
not damaged irreparably
coming out the other side
I have often been better than before
until now

Yes, my childhood left its wounds
my escape was a bit too close
for comfort
no visible scars, tho
at least not until I made them so
with layers of fat
burying the deepest pain
hiding it
for all the world to see

But layers such as those can be shed
like a snake
or perhaps not
perhaps more like a moth
emerging from a cocoon
in the cover of dark
completely changed
from one thing into another
I facilitated my own metamorphosis
at the midnight hour
forced to
just in time

Now I am pinned down
like a specimen
the one who everyone will see
as an example
a walking cautionary tale
reminding people to be afraid
for a minute, maybe more
but after that they’ll go on with their day
their life
shaking their heads in pity
at my paper thin wings
now disintegrated
happy not to be me
I understand how they feel
How could I begrudge them their relief?
I’d be happy, too
if this wasn't me

1 comment:

Chuck Dilmore said...

you are
and ever shall be
a beautiful Writer.

you shall not be
pinned down

but even
when you are
you are penning like
a canary, a wren, a finch!

there is more of you to come!
this, i know~