this frustrates me to no end because i work so hard to put good shit out there and when i get the difficulties i'm getting back, i don't know where it came from.
some will tell me it's some karmic bullshit, and i don't believe that. i'm not really sure what i believe at this point. all i know to do is all i know to do. simple as that. what will happen, will happen.
we can't control others, we can't even hope they'll do things remotely close to what we hope or imagine they would do. but we can, to the best of our abilities, gather our scattered selves and try to walk forward with dignity.
i hadn't meant to be wobbly about this, but it touches me deeply. to see the same thing coming around the bend that i had just thought i'd finally dealt the deathblow to.
night of the living dead seems to be the recurrent theme of my life, because it keeps rising up and wandering around the yard screwing up the view. and i don't know how to make it stop.
i want it to stop.
but i don't think things are ever that neat or easy. and we must slay the undead again.
and again.
and again.
at least i'm not wandering around in the yard with them anymore, i have that in my favor.
but i would so like goodness, and peace, a season of joy and fatness to be mine.
that is the direction i'm headed. the shore is still nowhere in sight. but i'm not turning back now.
it's too late.
i had a little talk with the chief the other night, and he asked me for a poetry book, i said,
there is too much in there i don't want you to know.
why do you write those things down then?
because it's what i do.
but it's a tenuous thing, meeting strangers. taking people into your confidence. believing that what you have to say, regardless of how it makes others feel is valuable.
some would say,
it's better to let it all die with you.
i don't know that i believe that.
there is something to being known. what that something is, i have yet to discover.
for all the tales i've told, i still am not sure i'm any closer to having those pivotal souls who surround me day by day knowing me. in fact, i'm sure they don't. they can't. they won't.
and that is the kind of shit wandering around in my front yard.
i'd so like it to be loveliness instead.
1 comment:
Is this a poem or are you talking about something in particular? I think I've heard that saying before. But like a lot sayings, that's all they are, sayings. It doesn't mean they're true, because I know what you mean. But then you have to wonder, maybe if I wasn't mean to that customer the other day... hmmmmm.
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