sometimes i feel that i don't
that i don't let enough of my
self come through,
even to the people that mean the most
my husband really and truly knows me,
he hears all my rants and raves,
my ideas and plans,
my weirdness and my intricacies...
not so much.
i don't really open myself in that way,
i don't really let myself
in the truest fullest funnest form of me
that i can be...
instead i offer a muted,
even keel me.
a me that doesn't write poems in her head
constantly...that doesn't visualize words
as people say them...
a me that wants to be a medical secretary
instead of the me that wants to write children's
books and own a gravel pit and be in the dead
center of a mosh pit...
why do i do that.
when did i start doing that.
and how do i start
that lives inside my head?
i woke up today not feeling "well"
dizzy and nauseaus and have spent
the day in a silent house watching
the trees sway in the sun outside my window
and trying to regulate my breathing to match
i have had much time to think.
and now i am rambling.
there are just so many things that i want.
i want to write.
and take art classes.
and have meaningful conversations with people.
and be known for something.
and let go a little bit.
i want to find my niche.
i want to