You put your head down, move along,
Picking up the pieces you drop
And take stock of all the steps you walked that day.
You understand that some pieces get left behind.
Others you held on with white knuckles
Because moments slip by so easily.
Then one day you look up, close your eyes,
Feel the sun burn against your face,
Realizing that just moving along is lonely.
Your path twists, you go left and you go right,
Not really knowing where you're going at all
But those pieces of yourself always remind you,
Remind you of where you have been.
You press forward with your hands in pockets,
Understanding obstacles always stand in the way,
Accepting that you may not always conquer,
Believing success never really mattered anyway
Because you tried, you will always try.
You understand the measure of success is relative.
We all got broken pieces, holes in our souls,
The lovely torn edges of who we have become,
And isn't the frayed more interesting?
You put your head down, you move along,
Gathering your pieces only to let them go
Because holding on white knuckled hurts over time.
You walk on, head held high,
Knowing that whatever comes next,
Whatever comes next doesn't matter anyway.
You are the measure of your own success
And the sum of your own beauty,
Broken pieces and all.
The first chill of Autumn blankets this town today.
I sit at my table once more and ponder on what I want,
How far am I willing to go.
This is the season of change,
No different this year than last,
Letting myself go to the wind.
Love is always a question this time of year,
Do I want it or do I not?
I can say that seeing his smile every day warms me
Even if he always manages to ruin the moment.
I can admit that the faceless man’s southern drawl sparks my curiosity
But can I say either one is good enough to stand beside me?
If that leaf lands to the left, then I choose him.
If it goes right, then I guess I choose the other.
In the end, I will always choose myself.
Sitting at this table with the usual lack of company,
I can be honest with myself,
Knowing the same answers will come.
I don’t want to put on faces
But I’m constantly covering who I am
Like sweaters on a chilly day, stroking my chill bumps away,
And burrowing back into myself before anyone can reach me.
The trees are beginning to change colors, soon to be bare.
We’re all the same, changing colors until we inevitably bare it all,
Always showing who we really are.
I wonder once we become brave enough to show the beauty of us
Why we always go back to hiding once life starts to freeze again?
New life, new beginnings and another round of what is love,
What am I do to do with it?
Arms other than my own would be pleasant
But claustrophobia always kicks in.
As much as I push them away, I still wonder why they left.
This gentle man and I could sit together on a breezy afternoon beneath the trees
But would I be content once the wind stopped blowing?
I could lie next to that charming man under his soft laps
With the sound of traffic outside his window
But would I love him when the good times have run out?
Autumn sets in.
My constant fight between my desire to run free in the wide open fields,
Chasing rays, falling into pockets of shadows on a glary afternoon
And the need to be lost in the bright lights of those paved roads,
Putting the pieces of a world I know I’m not a part of inside my purse.
Either way I will always choose me,
Sitting at my usual table with this beverage among my ghosts,
Pondering what it is I want
And how many of my limbs I am willing to bare…
Originally written 9/27/2003
At the end of the day, I'm just a girl who has been in love with writing her entire life. I am full of quirks, anxieties, fears, joys, laughter. And all I have wanted to do was give the world a smile.