Shaky fingers caress the heartstrings of a stranger, as the mind tingles in anticipation of uncharted consequence. What has changed in these past few weeks, to take a panicking person and make her new, refurbished from the rubbish that’d convened in recess?
‘Oft caught naked and rocking by the inward eye, arms wrapped tightly ’round knees, body conformed to the fetal position, she floats in the corner of her mind, shrouded by the shadows that keep her concealed and safe. Suddenly standing, leaping into a golden abyss, unfamiliar to the self, she pauses mid air and asks, “who am I?”
“I am the indigence of inhibition – the suspended scruple you thought you wanted; I am the fonxilious freedom you defined so narrowly, informed by your narrow perception of your narrow world that exists in a narrow dimension.
“I am quite possibly everything you could never know, and I am quite possibly nothing at all.”
She hearkens to the irresolute proclamation and thinks to herself, “I need to stop taking these meds”.
Cristi, it is a loving and wonderful poem. Hopefully you will be in a writing mood more often. Thank you. Antonio
Thank you Antonio; I do hope to be in a writing mood for the rest of my life.