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Weak In The Knees

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All Beings Considered

This Is It

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The Unedited Life  (She says what she means to say...)


Write a poem
and make it pretty.
It shouldn't be too hard
putting one word in front of
another.
(But oh, what a bother.)
Yes, its...
Just like walking a straight line
right across the page.
You might become the poetess of the age?
Then again you might not.
(Niceness is not a guarantee.)
Nor is laughter.


Hey! That's it!
Say what you say
but not what you mean.
Keeping it nice
doesn't mean that its clean
or that its honest.
Cluttering up the conversation
with clumsy clanking claptrap
You're talking to be clever
but that's not where its at.
Or is it for some?


I spent way too many years and words
being just like that.
Until I met him,
my friend, my truth.
Wish I'd met him in my youth.
But then there wouldn't be a story,
now, would there be?


I soon learned all about honesty...
and that it was foremost the best policy.
So, I became a policy maker,
instead of a being nicety-nice
word under-taker.
I felt less lonely
learning how to be me.
In the past I'd done myself
way differently
and couldn't keep my words
and my past straight:
I had thought people didn't want to
know the real me.
(Or they simply couldn't relate.)
But honesty did.


"We are all just as sick as our secrets,"
He said.
"And we live sometimes by our
bootstraps, but its better than
being led
by the nose."
"If you want to live fully,
live within your heart, not just within your head."


So I no longer write pretty poems...
because they aren't me.
And I write and say pretty words only
when they are what I mean,
and I mean them.
And I feel them.

Good-bye, good luck pretty-pretty.
God speed you on your lonely quest...

And I'm feeling much better now.

And I am so much better

and better off

than I ever was.



Copyright May 25 2012
Melissa A Howells All rights are definitely reserved by this Author.
Meloo from her Tilt-a-World





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