Tangled

You don’t need to be inspired, to write a poem.
You need to reach down and touch the thing
that’s boiling inside of you
and make it somehow useful.

~Audre Lorde

I  am
enough.

But,
sometimes,
it seems too much
waiting to be borne through me.
All tangled up
in my
humanity.

I don’t
always
have space,
nor do I like waiting,
especially
on myself.

Trying to understand
these movements.

It’s not that frozen
is better
than boiling.
It’s not.
Even if necessary
for a season.

I’d rather be
that river
flowing with surging rapids
over a path
worn through centuries.
Confident and sure.

But the way forward is new
again.
Fresh with opportunity
and uncertainty.

Picking and choosing
a way
forward,
hot springs
bursting through
ice.

Jagged edges
submerged,
but peeking through.

Crystal clear.

© 2016 Chris Paige. All rights reserved.

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