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
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.