my morning

I have been called a poet. But I don't think that is very accurate. I do not have any beautiful words to say. I do not meter on about love or sorrow. I rarely connect with anyone about anything. I think they just needed a more exotic word and that was the best they could come up with.

I woke with one of those headaches this morning. Unfortunately I had fallen asleep in an alley and slept in passed dawn so the light cut through my eyes and made it nearly impossible for me to see to get my way back to my chamber. My face was wet with tears by the time I finally made it out of the light and sank into my comfortable darkness. If only the tears were real and not just a physical reaction. Only then did the heavenly chorus fade to a dull roar and the rocking of the boat shift from "pair em up Noah one more time", to "little boat on the sparkling sea". Somewhere along the way I stumbled and fell feeling a piercing of my hand as I wretched up last night's vague resemblance to food. I will have to see what that was all about later. There is the darkness and if I just wait a bit longer I will be able to see.

Right now there was just to savor. Middle and ring fingers finding that void in my palm and exploring it. Control. It was finally mine within the cool opaque chamber. The day was looking up and I was not going to waste this pain. I was going to use it to think of that which I had begun to lust over and find a bit of release .