Going

A piece of paper
with scribbled words
stares at me from its pedestal
like the dishes from the counter:
expectantly.
'Give me words;
make them dance.
Now's your time;
here's your chance
to make me stay,
make me sway.
Make them heard.
Give me words,
words,
more words!' it nags,
and yes,
yes,
I will.
Now, I do not profess to be prolific in prose,
so let's call this
a paragraph.
Annunciation is key,
motivation is lacking,
and I
am
suffocating!
So I'm going.
Don't say no...
I'm going.
Do not allude to your amusement
at me and my eager emancipation.
Just putter through your hallways
because they're calmer than your mind,
while I fly fearlessly forward for what awaits:
my destiny!
My fate!
In me lies a passion not easily cast aside,
a dream,
a scheme to get my way,
a map of my road not yet traveled,
a knot to every loose thread threatening to unravel,
a blunt determination
inextinguishable,
unfathomable,
unyielding to incessant degradation,
to the phonetic pronunciation of all my faults,
my ineptitudes,
what I fear you might
just
see...
Do not try to dis-courage,
for I have none for you to ravage.
I will not go in spite of you!
But with spite
for every insult,
every assault on my own vernacular,
every spectacular failure I managed to accomplish
and never let myself forget.
With spite, you see,
for me,
or for who I used to be,
the old me:
she who sat with open hands
and empty eyes.
She will see
once and for all
who I have become:
how I make thunder with my hands and feet
and create worlds,
worlds I say!
with my words.
Don't say I can't do this...
I've said it often enough.
I now know I can,
I am sure of it.
Imperfect,
but worth it,
I'm going.



Florida 2008