This Week

Feeling inspired after reading Emily Dickinson, I decided to be brave and try my hand at poetry. It's at once more liberating and more restrictive than prose; I have the freedom to say less and let my meaning remain ambiguous, yet these few words must be more carefully chosen.

I have no idea what good poetry really is. I don't know if it's about its structure, rhyme and meter, or if it's purely about emotion. The following is just some of my musings about the past week. They are not intended to make a lot of sense, and for the record, I am very close to getting excited about Christmas, finally!

For your reading pleasure. Love, C.

Christmas feels wrong this year

Too early still for M&S promotions and obnoxious 80s hits

To these indifferent crowds I am another obstacle

Slowing their progress toward the display of cashmere sweaters

They have them in every colour; I picture middle-aged men pulling safe brown ones from the wrapping

Pecking well-meaning wives on the cheek

‘Thank you darling, just what I wanted’.

The expectant frosty twinkle cinnamon feeling floats ahead

Not too far off now, but far enough still

To make enjoying every day for its own sake

A possibility; life now has its share of excitement, the present reality is adequate

A hope - a dream - became reality this week

Berlin is no longer a musing, safe in its disconnection

I ask myself, can I have made such a decision?

Perhaps I am two people at once

Brave, smart, confident, joyous

Anxious, stuck, proud, a fake

Mechanical smile, forced laugh- not trying to be, but who doesn’t wear a mask?

Is it a mask when you are happy and hurting both?

More happy than hurting at that.

Life has bipolar tendencies. I cannot remain unmoved.

Why does one sting make all the good insignificant?

Humans have the best memory for negativity

So many words of love given by so many, easily forgotten

I choose to cling to these affirmations, take heart in God’s promises.

What a fragile strength is mine

Thin as spider silk, it bends but does not break

Corinthians flashes in my mind; in Him I am strong.

Truth can be slippery

I feel that I grasp it, before a careless word

Startles it, and it slides through my fingers

And I am back to second guessing myself, feeling guilty for not being above it all.

Telling myself I shouldn’t hurt

Shouldn’t take offence

Shouldn’t care too much when understanding too little.

‘Part of life is a lesson

Of how to let emotion ride in the backseat without letting it drive’.

Such wisdom is what makes Sunday mornings such a blessing

 ‘blessing’ ‘blessing’  ‘blessing’ so often this week

It doesn’t look like a word anymore.

If I wrote down every answered prayer this term

Being out of control would feel like relief.