I am a poet

Ok, by far the second best gift I got for Christmas (also from Pam) was the Def Poetry DVD. I need to write. I need to write like I need to breathe. I don't know why I deny myself the things that I need for so long until I practically burst over with pent up love, rage, knowledge, insight, understanding, frustration, whatever. It's that dream again, that beautiful dream. She's not going anywhere, but she will bide her time until I'm paying attention, or until I haven't paid attention in a long time and she will raise her beautiful head and demand to be seen.

Lulling myself into complacency. Taking advantage of the kindnesses given as if I could just settle for that forever. As if these things could be my simple, uneventful life so easily (have been my life so easily). These past few days have been indulgent at their best, passion-numbing at their worst.

Give myself a break, I'm sick, who else would help me anyway? And then, I thought of a strange idea that I have all the answers that I need. It really is about stepping up and forward. And even with a cough and a cold, forward movement is possible, necessary and imperative.

Action. Action. Action. Forever action. It will always come back to this, like the dream. So it is time to create a poem, a life, a beautiful picture.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful... beautiful boy...

I forgot I knew that song until I saw it again in the movie (Mr. Holland's Opus). Oh, that kind of love. That kind of tenderness. That kind of forgiveness. It is amazing the things for which kids will forgive their parents. I think back to the things that I have forgotten... by design, in my intention to forgive, and love and be loved. And what that love will allow - it may even allow someone to forgive themself. Anything can be forgiven. Anything. And I know the beauty that it causes in my life - the poetry that it makes. I've done some hard work with myself, my parents, and I need to keep working hard. I need to keep moving forward - higher. Is my life purpose complete? Not in the slightest. I'm still here, aren't I? Then get busy living, or get busy dying.

Words are so limited. I will attempt to raise the limits, to go beyond the limits. Try, in some small way to touch a Truth, to encompass the spirit of life, of love. I need to write like I need to breathe. Sometimes more. So that I can remember. So that I can believe. So that I can trust. So that I can love.

And watching other poets, other creators, I can remember that I am not alone. It is indulgent and egotistical in the highest order to pout and kick and scream and rant like I'm alone. I do this all the time. What a crackhead. I just have to go forward in the world and find my people. My people. While the ease of intention will put things in motion, it is not likely that they'll all just knock on my door, walk right in, and make themselves at home, like a long lost sister/brother.

Action minded people. Action minded people. In order to find anyone of quality of spirit, of soul, of love, I need to be that. The sacrifice, effort, and hard work today doesn't mean forever, Bobbi. Being slightly out of balance, right now, alone, unsure -- isn't forever. It will all swing back your way and be beautiful. And in the process, what might you become? How much larger will your picture of life get? What might you add to someone else's life? What truths might you touch upon? What will you commit to living? What example might you be? Do what you need to do in order to breathe. Take action, unstoppable action today.

All right. All right. All is right.

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