"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am…" –Maya Angelou
There’s a part of me that hates the lie
When I am told to be myself;
I’ve felt pieces of me die
To preserve another’s sense of self.
Yet who is there to blame, but I
Who made the choice to hold my tongue
And not to let the thing untie,
Lest I make another come undone?
Better that I rage and sigh
In quiet places no one sees,
And let that part that hates the lie
Find truth in tending others’ needs.
“It’s just a difference in philosophy;
You are right, and no one’s wrong”
So often that’s been me,
Singing the same old song.
Now all I hear is how you hate yourself —
And who am I to say you’re wrong?
Part of me is hating you;
The other part feels almost gone.
But it’s just a difference in philosophy;
Maybe, we both are wrong,
And letting go’s the only way to be
Who I wanted all along.
I have to focus
On the one thing I can do
There is no room in there for me
There is no room in there for you
No room for what I haven’t done
No room for what I should
No room for all I wouldn’t do
And now I never could
There is nothing but that one thing
Perhaps that isn’t true
But if I have to focus
It has to be on something I can do
Don’t forget today
In the fog of what should be,
In the fear of what could be;
Don’t allow yourself to turn away.
I’ve looked so long for a prince,
But I was longing for a friend;
I’ve watched the sun set from my tower,
But I was watching for a beginning, not an end.
I’ve been waiting for someone to throw me a rope,
But what I wanted was someone waiting for me to climb down;
I’ve been wishing for someone to make me smile,
But my best wish is for someone to be there even when I frown.
My weak disguise is wearing thin;
I wonder what we’ll find within?
If what’s there is worth setting free;
And if what I sometimes was will someday be.
You’re trying to find perfection;
But life gets no second draft.
Still, you go on thinking
You’re a failure to your craft:
You should have got it right by now,
You should know what to do;
But trying to rewrite it
Won’t make that first draft untrue.
It will be what it will be,
And still there’ll be no second draft;
So why not take a breath and read
The story as it’s meant to be, at last?
You’re two sides of the same coin:
If you could only see,
If you could only know,
Would this tale then have a happy ending?
Or does it take more than that to go
Beyond just being the other side?
There is a door to my heart;
But if another does not start,
And keep knocking when it seems I’ve dozed,
Then I opt to leave it closed.
Not every word is first and last;
Not every sentence makes a masterpiece.
Not everything’s the epitome of profound…
And not everything has to be.
Addendum: This is apparently my 500th blog post. Now isn’t that ironic? 500 imperfections in, and I write about not everything being perfect.
Writer In Retrospect 