Fallow Field

I have not been writing.
I feel as though all of my words will say one thing
that they will continue to gaze back longingly
at days that have already happened.
All of my life I have focused on
what-would-have-beens
instead of seeking
what-might-bes.
And so I have not been writing.
I will not give myself permission to look back.
Instead I pass my days as they come
living in them
each as a treasured piece of who I am
and of who I have become.

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getting through a dry spell

it appears that writing every day for a month wore me out. i am dry as a desert. wordless.

that’s not entirely true, of course. but it’s been hard for me lately, with my rapidly fluctuating work schedule and other things going on in my personal life to sit down and shut everything else out and just write. for a month and a half, while it’s felt odd to me that i haven’t written, i haven’t felt it important enough to shut out the world and do it. this is coupled by a problem with my laptop’s keyboard … that problem being that my left shift, tab, and caps lock keys don’t work. it’s the shift key that gets me, because it’s how i capitalize. if you’ll notice, nothing in this post is capitalized, because it’s too outside my typing method to properly capitalize things using the right shift key.

with all this said, i miss writing. i’ve recently begun using 750-words again, and am using it to work on a story i started some time back. i’m reworking it, because it’s hard for me to get back into that moment once it’s passed, and i don’t feel i made the right choices for the story anyway. i need to write from a place that i know and understand for now, not something well outside my realm.

with things sort-of settled down here – work is behaving a bit better, and nerd wars well on its way and i don’t need to babysit it quite so much, though i do need to spend some time knitting and spinning – i will have more time for the other things that occupy my mind. those things are writing, and my obod studies, and i hope to be back in the habit of both by july. perhaps not as prolific as i was in april, but i want to write. i need to write. i will write.

“Maybe It’s Time”

I don’t want this hell
but maybe I need it.
I don’t want to sit and think of the might’ve been’s
of the what-if’s
but maybe, just maybe, it will turn this mind-numbing fog
crystal clear.
I don’t love feeling alone
but maybe it’s time I learn to be that way
to rely first on myself before I lean on someone else.
I have my words
I have my teddy bear
I have my tears
I have my unshakable faith that the Universe is there
waiting for me to open my tear-filled eyes
and take my first steps
into being.

“Somewhere Along the Way”

Somewhere along the way
I lost the power to make myself happy.

I don’t know how it came to be
or how long it’s been that way.
I only know that it has left me sinking
flailing wildly
reaching for a hand to hold.

Somewhere along the way
I stopped taking control of my own destiny.

Now I’m afraid I don’t know how
to continue living.
I only know how to exist
how to reflect the glow of someone else
not how to shine with my own brilliant light.

“Force of Nature”

Where did my fire go?
When did I lose that quality that drew every eye?
What happened to make me dull,
a hollow shell of myself?

I don’t feel the fire anymore
I don’t feel the heat
I keep reaching for it
searching for it where it used to be.
But it’s gone
doused or stolen or just lost

I don’t have the faintest idea how to rekindle that flame
I keep hoping it will just appear
renewed and revived
burning brighter and stronger and more powerful than ever before.

It won’t.

Not on its own at least.
Not without a lot of searching
not without finding the passion that fuels my fire.

I have passion in spades, but not when it comes to myself.

When I look at myself I see the scared and angry girl
sitting in a hallway
with friends all around her
trying to tell her that the love of her young life is gone
forever.
When I look at myself I see a woman
who married a man
without knowing who he was marrying.

I have been called many things
a force of nature
an amazing woman
a creative being.
I want to be all those things
and I want to share them with you.

I don’t want to be alone in the journey of my life.

“Empty Rooms”

Big Room, 1948, by Andrew Wyeth

The shadows lengthen in the afternoon
spreading across the wall, creating monsters
of abandoned pictures and forgotten clocks.

This room mostly empty now
a reflection
of time’s constant march.

Once a fire burned in the center
spreading warmth throughout
now the hearth is cold, unused, lifeless.

Still there is illumination
there is hope for a brighter tomorrow
even in the quiet emptiness of a large, unused room.


Inspired by the image, this week’s offering to Magpie Tales.