It was at that age
of worrying about others
of feeling not enough
of looking for a pattern that was myself
that I put words down
or if not them, fearing those who read them.
At that age when I didn’t know what I thought,
I was astonished that the hand that wrote
knew more than I did
and taught that I must be brave,
fearless on the page in a way I had not yet learned to be in life
so that I became a writer to teach myself.
To have someone I trusted as a guide.
It was at that age when I wanted to be admired––
that age when I sought to be loved––
that age when I yearned to be thought a thinker,
important, listened to––
that I somehow was led to listening to myself.
There are these times we are led to by life
that become turning points
so long as we continue.
That sentence. That first sentence stretching
into the future, into now.
I found this poem on my desktop, and although I vaguely remember writing it, I can’t find any evidence of having posted it on my blog. For some reason I feel it ties in with today’s prompt and so I’m going to post a second response to the prompt today. Happy 2016 to all. I hope we all come closer to discovering our best selves in the year to come!