Spruce

January 2

SPRUCE

The gum that grows in trees and trickles down bark, that is harvested and chewed, spit out and sticks to shoes, is the very stuff that mimics my life. I race with vitality, burst my confines, am ruminated and masticated by various onlookers and then adhere myself to anyone I feel will carry me to a more advantageous venue. I needn’t apologize for my fluid nature or viscosity. I am just as I should be, always where and what I am, and at the same time, on my way to somewhere and something else.

Make a collage from junk mail

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GOOD AS GOLD

Just because I’m as good as gold

Doesn’t mean that I win the prize.

Doesn’t mean I get my way.

Doesn’t mean I gain your heart.

Being ‘extra special sweetness and light girl’

Doesn’t secure my future.

It does prevent me from living my life

as someone I don’t like.

It contents me to keep my own company.

It is a huge improvement over living

as the raging fury I once was.

Any destination I desire is more readily assessable

from this amiable posture;

in spite of inexpert yearning.

I can breathe past you if must be.

Walk down the road holding my own hand

instead of holding a lung full of air.

But I am the treasure.

You must earn me never capture me.

Appreciate me not devalue me.

I’m good as gold.

And please know that I am the prize.