Sober on the Way to Sane: Autumn

August 25

AUTUMN

The falling leaves slap my hand as I ride the road at fifty miles per, my arm dangling

The trees are shedding their masquerade

Exposed they stand stark, stripped

Naked to the soul

The growth of this year's yearning waves on the fringe

I can follow this lead

Remove pretense not clothing

Stand before all who have an interest in seeing me

Unashamed of my wants

And the things I reach for

I can cast off the uniform of evolution

And enjoy a long winter of truth

Do what you do.

Echidna’s Child

The difference between perplexed paranoia

and procrastination is sometimes a subtle distinction.

The confusion which swirls,

confounding me along my trudge,

gets the name of procrastinator.

I am not at all sure I should continue to call it by that name.

I believe that quite possibly I am an internal chimera,

a blend of creatures, both mythic and fantastic,

striving to live as one functioning specter,

in a world too hard for a disparate visage as myself.

When I am most myself,

when the goal is pure and true, I work with a will.

When I am making deadly compromise

and risking my soul for social ease or the approval of the keepers,

my dragon heart rebels and I am struggling

against the fire in my stomach and fear screaming in my head.

I don’t know how to eliminate the conflict,

but for now I will attempt to stop calling myself names.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

Sober on the Way to Sane