The river I am.
I fall in love with the next creative thing,
and there I stay for a while (but not forever.)
When I create, I flow, I cannot be boxed.
I am sometimes a writer. Sometimes a musician. Sometimes a painter. Sometimes a poet.
But I am never just one thing, not for too long.
I am the river I am.
Always drifting, always changing.
Not neat and tidy (how hard it is for them to understand.)
Just the river I am the river I am.
The river I am.
I see the world,
and I know it has been named
by those who came before me.
Who have I become
(or not become)
because of what they have shown me?
Voices claiming to guide are often sour
to my ears.
The world is alive,
delicate,
beautiful,
when my gypsy heart flies
free.
I see the world.
I name it for myself.
Falling from the sky
she sings,
‘One day I’ll fly away’.
Knowing she’ll always be falling.
Knowing she’ll always be
longing
to fly
away.
What I wouldn’t give
for a blanket fort
and a dinosaur cupcake.
