blank

It’s covered, muzzled. Quiet with a conscience. Reflective in silence.

It’s a blank page. The range of emotions  surface. It stares back at me. In agony I surrender, rather than have it dismember my insides. My pride pushed aside. I bow down and crown the page. It has me caged as I stare and fade into it. We fade into on another. I become blank as it. Blank of meaning, deprived of really seeing the themes and dreams I’ve chased all along. It has to be wrong to fell this blank. Rank, it stains me. I smell of nothing. One to blind with fear to write anything down. Afraid of the names they’ll call or the way the ground hurts when you fall. It’s all too much. Free of any luck or rescue. Right on que I give up. And ball my paper up. I put my pen aside. And accept that what I have to say doesn’t matter anyway. Who would listen to the days and ways I pray and pray for strength to say what I really want t say. So I pretend that there’s nothing there at all. Left in awe I pace back and forth narrowing the scope in which I’ll be able to reach, teach, create. Rather subside than collide. What if they don’t agree. What if I don’t feed what I need to feed with the seed God gives us all to grow up and be what we’re supposed to be? What if I don’t do what He needs me to. What if I can’t? What if I stay blank?

A thing of beauty.

Dismissing the fits and misconceptions that exist causing this cognitive dissonance.

Elated at the ways I can portray myself but disappointed at the way the joy aims away from who I really am. Because I am not a compilation of pictures and poses. It goes against what I say I am. God completes all that is Good in me. But I’m finding that I have to squeeze Him in between when I get this way. And I don’t like to get this way. To portray what I think others want to see and negate the real beauty. Because the real beauty is scary. It is untouchable and not to be tamed. For in its rawest form it is strong enough to mend the fences of the broken pieces and petals of broken hearts and souls. It explores and wonders and asks for the best in me. And why would I change a thing of beauty? No not a thing of beauty. It’s purpose has yet to be served. So it must remain free to express its to nature to nay sayers who don’t believe that it really exists. That beauty from within can defy what the masses project to be the real definition of it. It can and will make me feel free. A thing of beauty. Crazy it I we seem to think that the thing could ever be caged or staged. It is no animal to be tamed. Unchanged and free it must remain.

And oh how oh how a thing of beauty.