Its Just Me Again

    I used to write. I remember looking out my window and writing just everything I could think of. I miss than the complete, uninhibited expression of my self. I need this blog to remember, remember simpler times. I want to remember when I was little, I want to remember relationships. I want to feel what I feel without worrying how it will sound. That is what this blog is, an opportunity to be heard, to remember and to express.

    So much has happened over the last couple of years.There has been no time. No time to mourn loss. No time to laugh. No time to cry. I am wrung like a scrap of linen that has washed too many things; shabby, tattered and threadbare. I wrestle everyday with my inadequacies and general incompetence. I am torn by every storm that comes my way.

    I miss my grandma, I miss the intoxicating smell of her kitchen filled with ingenuity and creativeness lost to our generation. I miss her voice, I miss her hugs. I miss her stories. She was 86, that still doesn't seem like enough time. She never held her great granddaughter. I was at work and walked through a hall and smelled a smell that nearly brought me to my knees and brought tears to me eyes. It was just like her kitchen. My heart is homesick an heartsick for the love and safety an consistency of her home. Now it is still there, the building itself. My grandpa is still there also. Somehow what is there only leaves a tremendous void  reminding me that she is not. There is no home to go to. My parents house is shattered and an grandparents house is shattered. Only faded an worn memories of what was remain like tattered photographs in my mind. I want to go home.

    I miss my friends. Friends with which I grew up. We all got married, we all shared a part of our life that was so critical our place now. I miss the fellowship of people who really know who I am. I mourn the loss of the closeness we had an have lost through the inevitability of time an space. When did we grow up? When did I become an adult that worried about jobs an money and time an "plans."  The truth is I don't know. Somehow I have lost myself and desperately need to find myself again. Who am I and where can I find myself. I am not talking about the roles that we always use to define who we are: I am a wife, mother, nurse etc. I am talking about the real me. The me that is a musician, who was passionate who wrote an cried and lived. That me, who is she and how does she fit? How does she fit in this life that must be professional an clear an clean and perfect all the time? Maybe I can find out.

I am adrift,
alone,
I feel sand in my toes, hope.
But next cold water,
Stinging salt,
and ire comes bubbling over.
The Ocean should know better.

Lost,
empty of purpose and cause.
Reasons are empty,
The grains of sand clung to no longer are felt.
Hopelessness is great.
One more breath,
One more stroke,
Maybe there is a shore.

I fight,
the cold darkness that seeks to swallow me whole.
Everyone says it is impossible.
Dawn can break,
why won't it?
The darkness should know better.

Someday I will crash upon the shore,
coughing up my own unbelief.
The sun will awn to warm my aching bones,
it will bleach away my disgrace.
Someday will come.
Someday.