20/1/98

I’m in an alien body

Attached, yet so distant

Inside I am knowing and confident

Outside I am resistant

I fluster, I blush

I talk too much

I say wrong things

Laugh too much

Outside does not look

how Inside should

Plainly I see now

I’m misunderstood.

Somedays, I just have to refer to a poem I wrote when I was a teenager.
I feel so inept at connecting and communicating that I think of how pleasant a hermit’s life might be.
I get prickly when I perceive others to be biting
I say things that don’t reflect the true intentions of me
I feel like sometimes, the
people who I admire, and people who I love
don’t realise that I do so, and I do so ardently,

how much I mean to ease minds and share joy,

but end up being sarcastic or silly or something other than what I want.

And we get caught up in this sticky webbed dance of personalities and crabbiness and emotion.
I feel messy when this happens. Messy inside and out.
Right now as I write this, a pigeon has come to sit outside my thirteen story window.
He is gray, with a purple green shimmer down his neck
and he looks so damn peaceful and perfect
that it calms me.
A little miracle…
and *off* he flies to the wild blue yonder.
Off to enlighten the window of another office worker,
to make them smile and remember that we are all okay.
We are all perfect just as we are.
Growing, perfect, gangly beings we are.