Monday, June 4, 2012

a holy tussle

I want to be the hand of a painter, as it brushes the canvas in a free stroke, mixing colours, making lines - making a mark.

A bird in flight - feeling the cool wind on my face - faster, faster through the clouds. Never alone, never far away from anywhere.  Able to leave when I so desire, on my own steam.

I want to be a delicate ballerina, floating on notes, dancing in the air - light as a feather that falls. Pretty as a picture - all tulle and pink and ribbon silk.

To be a flower to grace the hair, that falls across the face of beauty.

The light from a star. An ocean spray. The shadow of a tree. Defined, but free.

Perhaps in the next life I could choose to be me, again, but this time be a different version of myself.  Say 'yes' where I once said 'no' - 'maybe' where I once said 'yes' and 'never' every time some one, or some thing - real or no, tried to put me down - even if it is myself. Freedom isn't so easy - to have opportunity to strive for anything you want, but be incapable of deciding where to take aim is cruelty of the highest order. This is my defining trait. This is my struggle.


1 comment:

Raven/Missy said...

You are a writer with amazing talent to arrange words.