Nothing Comes Out
I have these moments
When I feel my words pushing,
Digging at my skin,
Begging to come out,
So I can know,
So I can feel,
So I can see a little more
Of what is real.
I feel these words
Just underneath my skin,
But all too often
They won’t flow out,
They simply won’t begin.
Maybe it’s kind of like
These words are in a language
I haven’t learned yet,
So I feel them,
I know they are there,
But I can’t reach them,
I can’t release them,
I can’t let them
Fall onto the paper
Lying in front of me,
Pen at the ready.
Nothing comes out;
They just crawl through
My muscles and bones
Waiting, pushing, wanting.
In these moments,
Words all stopped up,When my heart is aching to be heard,
I have to find another way
To hear, to see, to understand.
Can I be still enough
To hear anything
Beyond my own meager words?
Can I be present enough
To hear what’s already
Being spoken all around me,
The poetry, the dance, the music
In all that I see?
Can I let it all speak to me,
Let go of my need
To find my own words,
Set aside my paper and pen
To let all that is outside
Become part of my inside,
Learn a new language
So I can hear,
So I can see,
So I can understand
These words that are pushing,
Begging to come out?
Can I find it in myself
To partake fully of these moments,
To transform the truth
That lives around me
Into the witness
That flows out through me
So I can know,
So I can feel,
So I can see a little more
Of what is real?
