I have stumbled across a new passion: writing. It is proving to be insightful and rewarding.
Anger is prominent in and amongst my psyche.
I need to cancel it.
That shit can make another appointment some other day when I'm ready for it.
Fight or flight is also prominent, paralyzing me as I stare up from the rabbit hole.
I fell in here long ago to find myself and I still have yet to find her.
What I did find though was confusion and everlasting perplexity.
A facsimile of the real deal.
A split identity.
A clone perhaps.
Something I easily fell for.
Tension is assuredly gripping me in a tight squeeze.
I'm unable to release myself from it's grip.
I can't seem to find words without it holding me tight.
It is not a comforting grip either.
Why is it so prevalent?
When did it appear?
Is it necessary?
I don't know.
I don't think so.
Should I acknowledge it as living?
Do I dare give it a name?
I will give it a name.
No, I will give 'her' a name.
Let me explain who Dapple is.
She is a child. She is simple.
Dapple sees dreams if she sleeps.
Dapple tosses and turns, flips and flops.
Dapple's sleep is elusive most nights.
She has a spirit I envy, full of tenacity, full of energy.
She is not afraid.
She is fearless.
She believes in herself.
She knows who she is and she loves herself.
It's What We Do by Pink Floyd
© 2020 Laurie S Novak