As a teen I dream’d of things to come – a marvelous life for me.
A world so pretty, full of life, magic, art…
Many a man have I wooed discretely, indulgently… Wrongly?
Self-gratification was my quest and self-flagellation the reward.
I used to charm people… a bright star to dazzle them with. I could pull you in with the best. Everyone liked me. It was easy. I was so afraid.
Now, I’m me. Quietly me. The best of me, I think.
I don’t make friends so easily, I’m not always on my mark in public;
But I don’t miss the game. And I don’t miss the fake charm.
Surprisingly I miss the excitement of seeming exiting – the high that comes from self-importance and others’ indulgence.
I still dream of big cities, little sky, high heels and big charm.
I also dream of mountains, a quiet mind, a silent heart,
a time and place when the burning, yearning excitement of things to come
rests.
Recently I have tried and succeeded and tried and succeeded only to relax my efforts.
There is a song inside me, a world I visit behind the noise, behind the words, behind the ever-cunning, ever-planning ego. Am I to live there? Is this my desire?
Can I be happy and confident without the empty buy-in of others who don’t really know me in the first place?
omchild 