emmythefemmie

Presently, The present self is tensely thinking of self through time. A Time traveler perhaps? Like all Humans. Sitting here watching the future run around the yard. Buzzing, And humming. Dancing on tip toe. The younger chasing the older. Roots, Branches, or strings of web. All vibrate with life.  What will my children learn? I suppose it's the things I never intended to teach. Words tell stories. Children see what you do. The words beneath the words, and the tween spaces. They breathe with intention. How to teach without words? How to teach word?. How to listen, really listen. Exhibit and practice what is hard for me to feel. Until this future self can look through time with compassion, acceptance. Just a time and place. Just a cloud.    Grief. Loss. Death. These things easy to understand the pain of. But what of the pain  of daily deaths? The grind of following habit into the next day. Numb. Then striving. All to nothing. Over again. The day resets and here we are ...

There is no park bench. No leaving of the daily grind for any sacred brew. The daily is the sacred. The brew is the bubble of coffee. The humbling embodiment of a shitty diaper to change. The anger that moves. Sadness that weeps. My joy running tiptoe up and down the hallway. The always too short daily reunion of me with my fellow flightless bird. Here's the egg. Come into my feathered wings. Then goodbye again. And again and again round we go like so many textiles in the wash. Rinse and repeat. These words are for me. Sending them outward dancing upon lighted pixels. These words are for you too if you happened upon them. Who are you? Are you nobody too? Come here then. I'll hold you here with myself and we'll rock like the ocean until we can feel our feet again. And having found our feet we will run.  Did you lose your voice? Did you lose your memory? Poor thing. Wanting. Wandering. Not understanding why.  I'll hold you here. Just here and sing you a solemn lullaby. Si...