Try Sailing Up A Sea
She sits atop a control tower, her life’s bigger than she knows. Only when the kite flies free, will it’s power up and grow
On the edge of an Irish cliff, smokey eyes tear at their points. Of salty air she’ll take a whiff, such melancholy it annoints.
Try sailing up a sea.
Darlin’ is such a petty curse, a child’s verse, and can’t be worse in the stripping of her will to be try sailing up a sea.
She laughs inside a raging storm, so quieter than her storm within. Only when the black skies turn loose, will her new chance come be born.
On the sand of a Carolina shore, she’s glad to find a home. And even though they’re waging war, she’ll never have to roam.
When “darlin'” was a little curse, for now it cannot be the worst, or even as her child’s verse… she feels like sailing up a sea.
Like sailing up a sea.
It’s true that I can carelessly type one-hundred words of minute, derived purely from a stream of consciousness, while simultaneously watching daytime television and singing the current J.Lo tune that sticks to the membrane. Yet this past year I spent writing in a yearbook-sized journal, fresh with glaring white pages and a connectedness one feels upon seeing her own chickenscratch sprawling the inner ramblings of her heart. Who could possibly resist the glittery and metallic flavours of a box of gel pens, awaiting the rainbow of words and scribbles to fill a blank page?
My experimentation as a cursive-writing scribe of nothingness in its blazing verbosity brought me to the life of a recluse. I missed the interaction through the typed word, the positive feedback (so rare as it may be) and the incentive to capture someone else’s attention but my own. Especially in a time when we all have a sense of powerlessness, I found being powerless and alone in the written text was just too much to bear. Even with the dysfunctional shift-key that challenges the typing of my life, I feel the internal obligation to return to blogging. To expose my thoughts again in a public forum. With all this reality programming, I’d be an anomaly not to divulge! The following are rantings from my life… collaborated with the “the me in me” throughout the past year.