The Poetry Marathon

Love is here. I feel so happy and blissed out. Is this really my life?

Nobody is GIVING me love. No platters are being handed out with that delicious entree. It resides fully within me. And I radiate it out. Can you feel it?

I am love. Loving. Lovely.

Coffee in hand.

Ahhhh, big sigh of relief…

This is my master remedy.

Making pancakes for you before I have had my coffee, is a recipe that consists of the following ingredients:

One overly hot pan

Not enough butter

Undercooked batter in some places

Overcooked batter in others

A few cuss words sprinkled through…

Voila!

Burnt pancakes are served…to the birds…

Life.

Living.

Awake.

Asleep.

In Bed.

In my Head…I did almost oversleep.

Just in the nick of time, I awoke. Some inner stirring prompting me. Dont miss out on this. Dont miss out on you. Dont miss out on life.

Live.

Be Awake.

Dont fall back Asleep.

Still in Bed…but I didnt oversleep.

I am here.

I am going to follow through. I have a new commitment to myself, that whenever I sign up to do something or say I will do something, I DO IT.

I feel super nervous, because lately poetry has become something I fear. I used to love it dearly, but after tanking open mic after open mic lately, my confidence has really taken a huge hit.

Part of me is doing this to prove that I have what it takes, the other part to conquer my fears and something else inside tells me that this is going to be huge for me in some way that is unknown to me at the moment, but will become apparent soon and very soon.