sunflowers on sunday

I have been settling into my life, as a 30-year-old woman--I don't think girl applies any more.  And it has been lovely actually.  The sea of emotional torment of trying to figure out who I am has settled into a rhythm of knowing who I am and continuing to discover who I am.  The waves of grandiosity and self-doubt and fear and awkwardness have kind of spent themselves.  The world is no longer limitless--that aspect of youth has faded--but it is wonderful and full.  And always changing.  I hope my penchant for talking about pension plans with my peers don't make me too boring.  I guess this is what life is.  For now anyway.  Until that changes, right?

This is a poem I wrote in a dip of loneliness.  I think it is part of life to be alone sometimes and feel it in your bones.  Just as it is a part to enjoy the company of others and feel it in your chest.  Oh, and I bought some sunflowers.

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Sometimes

Sometimes I am so alone
I could step outside my body
And look back
At the shell behind me

You are so alone, I say to my body
Where are your friends?
Where is your family?
Where are your lovers?

Hold yourself, your soft arms in your hands
Because there are no other hands
And no other arms
To cross across your chest

Say something aloud
Or you will forget how to hear
Because there are no voices
To whisper at your cheek

Your eyes stay empty
With no faces to fill them
Close them
To capture your cozy darkness

There are no others
Handle your brittleness
With delicate fingers
Because no one will patch your broken pieces