I’m back! Tomorrow I start publishing here daily again – this month I’ll be using Merriam-Webster word of the day for inspiration. I might be a little slow this coming Sunday (two days from now for me), mainly because I’ll be heading to families for a week and it’s a few hours drive. I would like to say my month off has been full of joyous rest, but that’s never the case with life. It happens though. We move on and overcome in time.
I look forward to annoying all my followers one day and email at a time!
So with this Shadow of May is finished, though a day late. I haven’t found anything for June in either poetry challenges or tarot challenges, so I might take the month off as I’ve got to finish up my sister’s book and begin learning Blender to help a friend out on a game she’s developing. If I do take off I will most likely be back in July – I don’t want to leave this place dead for too long. Plus. I like writing semi-daily, it’s become a nice, relaxing habit I’ve developed for after I get off work. Anyway, enough with all the babble. The last prompt for Shadow of May was: What do I need to explore?
My life is all about the cost
Of living, living modestly, and working well
For long hours. I leave the living in the little bit
Left over between one work day and the next.
I’m methodical an I’ve no reason to rebel,
I swear, It’s one of those painful sort of comforts-
I got a job and I pay the right price everyday
To keep it, and most days, most days
I only get off feeling sort of dead for it all.
It’d be perfect, if only my heart wasn’t nostalgic
For a place I’d never been but in my dreams,
Of the day and night variety, a dream where I live
And work happily, without conflict and worry
How I’ll balance my bills and what I want to be.
I didn’t want to be late, but whoops. Here’s day thirty of Shadow of May. The question asked was: How do I listen? How do I speak?
I learned when young not to listen
To the other kids on the playground-
I was in second grade, aged just eight.
I was tongue-tied – I was born
With my tiny tongue fused to the bottom
Of my mouth, all my words were locked
On its tip, which I couldn’t lift.
They didn’t know, my parents,
The teachers, or classmates. I was slow
And special. They listened just enough
To know I wasn’t right in my words. I learned
I wasn’t right in my words,
And every day I felt betrayed by them
When they tumbled helplessly awkward
From my mouth. I had tried to explain myself
In all those uncertain and clumsy sounds
That I knew, but didn’t trust.
I became so aware of all the little sounds
I made and didn’t. Short tongued and short
Tempered, and ashamed I fought or ignored
Everyone who tried to laugh at or limit
They cut my tongue free.
Forced it upwards and disconnected me
From what I had become, but in the end,
Ultimately, I had already been taught I could only
Listen quietly to the people around me, and I
Seemed so wise in my silence, that by the time
I was a young adult I was asked often to give counsel,
To give my opinion, my secretly clumsy, distrustful Words,
And I, every time, feel deep anxiety blossoming,
Blooming under my tongue, waiting and fearing
I’d give it wrong.