Here I am again
My filter is gone and I am here to write
There is nothing I could write that has not been written already,
Unfortunately I must be satisfied with wording and rewording the unoriginal.
There is something sacred to be found in letters,
And I hope it is not lost on you.
There is something sacred in winter as well,
It has arrived with flurries and flakes,
Sweeping out the pumpkin spice,
With the most wonderful time of the year arriving
Before the cranberry sauce can be cleaned from the tablecloth.
Long flowy sweaters, cardigans, and boots,
I confess my mind is rather superficial today.
I wore forest green, beige, and "Tan Lines" nail polish,
Earth tones, and I felt like a wise woman who keeps herbs in her windowsills.
Alas, that is not me. The closest thing
Is the flowers from holidays past, nestled above my bed.
Hardly herbs, but you can't really blame me.
I am so grateful for a place to let free all of the words inside my head.
I need a place to spill the thoughts and conversations I wish I would've had.
I think the end of this rambling is near,
(Or "nigh" if that is the correct word)
But thank you for following me through the dark and dreary,
Bizarre forest of my head.
I have lied.
My mind is not dark and dreary.
A bit preoccuppied on how cold my nose is, I confess,
But nothing more than that.
My mind has housed a great volume of thoughts,
From dark and dreary, once upon a time,
Growing gradually more selfish, until my rude awakening.
After that they slowly grew, taking shape until the beauty could be seen,
Barely, barely, if you squint and tilt your head,
But it is there under the rust and dust.
I believe this is the true end of my poem, and
Once again I thank you for your patience, and endurance.