A Synopsis Of Life

A SYNOPSIS OF LIFE

How did I arrive here?

I came with joy and tears.

Arrived on a sunny day—Tuesday, I think,

My mom cried. Dad, well, his eyes blinked.

I was the girl they had wished for.

I was born in Indiana in 1984.

I lived overseas inGermany,

With a close knit, loving family.

I learned to fight my brothers

Then make up afterwards.

I learned to care for others

And to always keep my word.

Born, then grown, now on my own,

I’m creating a life far from home.

I play with words, when not at work,

I read big books, and serve at the church.

I’m single but crazy about someone,

Realizing new love can be loads of fun.

Perhaps, I’ll stop, enough said about me,

A synopsis of life this is meant to be.

THIS GIRL, THAT GIRL

 

Who is that girl

The one who wore skirts—long and drab and gray

Who is that girl

Who drowned feelings in food,

Filled emptiness with love stories

Dumped loneliness in endless journals.

Who is that girl

The one with no friends, no playmates, no outside release

Who was clumsy and awkward, big-chested, and weepy?

Who is that girl

The one who felt invalidated, unnoticed, so worthless, half stupid

Hiding dreams, denying hopes, nurturing pain.

Who is that girl

Who was afraid to speak her mind, guilty of hidden faults,

Shadowed by her brothers, jaded by religion, cocooned inside four walls, trapped in inhibition.

Who is that girl—I know her well.

It was me.

 

Who is this girl

The one in the jeans—some blue, some black, or stonewashed.

Who is this girl

The one surrounded by friends, asked out to a movie, respected by a guy, cared for in a church.

Who is this girl

The one who speaks her mind, who fights back, who believes God’s truth

Who is this girl

Who laughs so loud and freely

Who loves to play music

Who runs toward the sunrise?

Who is this girl

Who tore down prison walls,

Who forsook old control,

Who silenced forever the voices,

Who stood up and left the darkness.

Who is this girl

The one who is pretty, smart, and talented

Who is full of light, knows her self, is passionate,

The one who loves her God without guilt or shame

The one who is confident, defeating any fear?

Who is this girl—I know her well.

It’s me.

THE PAST

I’m not angry.

Inside beyond the cobwebs

Lies a trunk of memories

Not the happy Christmases

Or jolly birthday parties.

I dare not open its lid

Or I’ll  find ripe bitterness.

Things from years as kids

Conversations, fights, bruises

Stuff from adult choices.

Not just these, but people too

Ones I care to forget.

I won’t open it—you

Can’t make me do it.

Someday—who knows—I’ll look inside

Crack the lid, to relive, the past

But now the memories, the scars hide

In the locked, dusty trunk they’re cast

I have no more to say.

No. Nothing. That’s it.

Except perhaps this:

I am not angry.

 

 

WINTER’S A PRISON

 

Winter’s a prison

The snow’s the guard

Icicles are the bars

Sleet adds chains

Inside my room

Stuck—desolate

Winter engulfs me

In unbreakable chains.

Spring arrives—my pardon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PASSION

 

It’s a fire blazing high,

Melting any resistance,

Filling all my mind

Forcing me to dance.

It’s a snowstorm raging

Piling up it’s force

Ignoring any complaining

Bringing me new course.

What is this strange occurrence?
What is this uncontrolled breed?

Who is this unbridled stallion

Beckoning me to heed?
His tail swishes, his head bobs,

What’s his name—passion!
Mount and ride.