Poem © 2013 by Joyce
Mason
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved
This
dark place
between
lives:
I
live here too often
mutating
waiting for the rebirth of
who
I am
what
I do
how
I see myself
hoping
I don’t come out
a
freak
or
worse
don’t
come out at all
stuck
in lost.
The
darkness is a closet
without
the dimmest light
not
even the long dirty string
of
my childhood wardrobe.
Barely
a walk-in
it’s
cramped to overflowing
with
things that no longer
fit
me.
Old
masks line
the
dirty walls
with
chipping paint.
My
discomfort
with uncertainty
with uncertainty
mounts:
nothing new in
sight
no
Goodwill Store
with
cheap make-do's
to
carry me though
my
latest transition.
No
wonder
I
don’t want to come out
of
the closet
naked.
From
this place of withdrawal
I
fight the demon depression
hoping
for enough strength
to
beat him down.
I
channel Jackie Chan
ducking
karate chops
to
my solar plexus.
I
limbo dive
under
the pitchfork.
I
see depression’s beady red eyes
smell
the sulfur.
He
offends everything
I
stand for.
Talking
to myself
my
words
stun
me.
Maybe
there’s nothing
to
stand for.
Maybe
it’s time
just
to sit …
…
to sit and contemplate
what
I want to do and be
in the last act
of
my life
shelving
the shoulds or dreams
I
have outgrown
or
the closets
full
of clothes so out of style
they’re
a welcome moment
of
comic relief.
Maybe
I should sit
and
contemplate
the
real me
the
naked me
and
what it would take
to
streak down Main Street
wind
in my hair
living
not in-between
but
right in the moment.
~.~.~
Photo Credit: ©
deviantART – fotolia.com
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