Wonderful Words

My fiction. I want to race away and keep you all to myself. The stories I’ve told and want to tell.

My fear. These shadows and spaces and stars and silences all bottled up and tied to my belt and bouncing around with every step I take.

My fantasy. The sweetest scenario and the time and the space to just stay in the city day and night and morning and noontime.

My failure. What I want the most when I want it without worry or wonder.

My fun. All I imagine and can sum up and try to state and try to figure out and keep trying and always be surprised and always find more story to tell.

My fate. An echo of an echo and a reflection in a mirror all circling all holding me still.

My friend. The story I write every day working with words so fragile and free and with pieces of parts so familiar and so known.             

My freeform. The verses and the lyrics and the choruses and the words I scoop up and hold in my two hands like the precious newborn they are.

My fondness. Relaxed, fitted, not fully formed but accepting, understanding, hoping, dreaming through the night ‘till tomorrow, ‘till the words keep flowing, keep finding their way, keep rising and falling, keep coming, and then stay a while. 

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