The Queen of Indecision


I was cleaning and organizing my documents on the computer and I kept finding things I’ve written that I never did anything with.  This one’s from 2010, almost four years ago.  I’m almost positive that I wrote this at a very late or early hour of the day and had probably had a few adult beverages.  I still relate to some of what was said here in a big way, so I decided to post it.  Plus, there’s a thing about poetry that never gets edited or ‘fixed’ that I enjoy.  Perfection is subjective and fleeting anyway.  Enjoy the meanderings of younger me.

***

Slow inebriation

breathe in, breath out

careful evaluation

takes time to come about.

I feel the air changing

charging, churning

brace for impact

brace your will

look at the sky

inhale

slow inebriation

my arms are outspread

my life is unlived

my bed is unmade

my words are unspoken

take these hands

I’m unsteady now

electric charges

and acidic skies

I’ve hidden it all behind

these slighted green eyes.

***

I’m in that place again, that special room within my head where most of my life is spent.  There is a window seat with plush pillows and a view of the ocean.  My knees are pulled tightly to my chest.  Here I dwell.  Dwelling just sounds like living until you realize how stationary you’ve become.  All the books are organized on their proper shelves.  All the papers filed into an orderly chaos that only I could navigate.  Sweet melodies resonate from speakers and remind me of the world outside.  Outside, where the others live.  Outside, where the chaos is matched by beauty and love.  I like it out there too but this is my room. This is where I dwell.  How could I leave it behind?  Every step away is a step into something new.  If only this crippling fear would loosen it’s grip.  Then  I might get up, walk away, go see…or would I?  I am the Queen of Indecision.  I straddle the lines and flower the walls with my mighty and resounding “Maybe!”.   

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2 Responses to “The Queen of Indecision”

  1. I like your idea ‘perfection is subjective’. This certainly rings true. To me your poem describes how we often feel unable to truly express ourselves – other peoples’ ‘perfection’ wieghs heavy.

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