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.
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
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.
there are things that need to be said
things that make the heart sing
words unspoken that yearn for the air
that once breathed into being
become like feathers
leaving in their wake
a sense of freedom and fulfillment
there are things that must be said
hopes and dreams require fuel
without voice they cannot emerge into the light
without the light they cannot be seen
there are things which we fear to speak
words that clutch and claw at our hearts
threatening to tear us open
leave us raw and bleeding
these too must be spoken
must be exposed and examined
for they are impediments to our true selves
to our happiness
set pen to paper, hold a brush in your hand
make music and art and poetry
and give breath to your fears
to your hopes
your dreams and beliefs
your wondering and your pain
allow it to live
and then to be free
Most of my classmates longed to be a dancer
draped in layers of tulle with pink toe shoes
but not me.
Had I the chance I would have ridden in the rodeo
my tiger-striped hat in hand, a signature
of my soul.
Or perhaps a fortune-teller, a carnival’s pride
with khol smudges darkening my eyes.
While some dreamed of eponymous fame
and having their name in lights, lines of fans
lying in wait,
I wanted to be on a ship in the frigid ocean,
my feminine form hidden under layers
I would rather have been a warrior, standing
strong against the edicts of a ruthless man,
than try to fix the ills he created, like hunger
Mine was never the way of the dew-kissed rose
but the rough-and-tumble daisy, shedding petals
here and there.
I did not flick my hair, or emulate some iconic
beauty seen only on the glossy pages of Vogue.
These things didn’t gel with who I was, who I
wanted to be.
I had a tenacious spirit, a relentless drive to be
whatever my heart craved, and I never allowed
their expectations to overcome my will.
Shawna gave us another lovely list of words, and again I took on the challenge of using them in order. I might try this again with them not in order, but I am fond of a challenge.