I am a Storyteller, first and foremost. This is my blog for poetry, prose, stories, excerpts of my novels and videos. Been writing since the age of 7. Can't stop or I'll die. Life poetry, prophetic poetry, poetry for all genres. I think you'll find yourself here if you read long enough. Warning: I am a very funny girl with many layers.....
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Thursday, August 25, 2016
My favorite song....A Place Called Love by Johnny Reid I hope that place exists
Outside looking in, I stand
Like an orphan at a window
Gazing in at happy scenes
And families 'round the room.
Is there no one to look out at me
At my little lonely face?
Why is my smile un-welcomed
And my hand untouched and shunned?
Though years have passed and I’m now grown
I’m still outside that window
Still an orphan looking in
Still waiting to belong.
I feel like a bit player
In the movie of my life
With someone else in the starring role
While I’m standing in the background.
I’m a footnote in a dusty book
With my name upon the cover,
An unsung song, a passing thought
And a poet under ground.
Not all artists find fame at death
(Nor do I want to be known then)
If I cannot know the taste of love
While I walk upon this world.
I only want a taste of it
A little taste
A little light shining in the window
When I get to my home.
A little touch upon my back
When I am tired
A little crumb of the bread of love
In this famine that is my life.
A love to love
A face to call my friend
That’s all, that’s all, that’s all I ask.
My well has run dry and my soul is in drought
I have given much out and received little back
I am dry, I am dry, Lord, I am so dry
Like the Sahara in the summer.
I have suffered for my art
And now my art has become my fortress
I am a book that no one reads
And nobody understands.
The wallflower standing at the back of the room
While the dancers feel the music
Invisible and un-noticed
Like the paisley on the walls.
The third wheel, an unwanted guest,
The object to maneuver around
With no one bothering to wonder and see
If the object should have a soul.
I have no birthdays to celebrate now
For all the people that knew I was born
I’m just a number now and a unpaid bill to pay.
I was born an orphan
A foreign thing in a family full of strangers
Be quiet! Hush! Get out of the way!
Why can’t you be like the others?
Did you not see
How badly I wanted to be like the others?
Mother, could you never hear
How desperate I was to be heard?
I have been quiet all my life
While crying and shouting and screaming inside
Like a butterfly too weak
To break out of it’s cocoon.
I am so tired of being invisible
So tired of waiting for the tide to turn
And the miracle that waits ’round the corner.
I was born in the wrong era, I guess
Two hundred years ago, I wouldn’t know
That the phone only rings
Because it’s a wrong number.
Two hundred years ago,
I wouldn’t wait and wonder
Why there wasn’t a letter
In the mail box for me.
I wouldn’t know
But now in ways, I can no longer count
My rejection, my un-needed-ness
Surrounds me like a fun house mirror.
I know I am written on the palm of my God
And someday I will know the love I do not know now