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Rain

If I could, I'd run away from here right now. Instead I am playing the lottery that for the next few hours no one is going to come here and ask and reask and reask the same question and I'm going to fly out of this chair and stab them in the eye with my pen. That I'm not going to break my pen off in their skull and then finish them off with my teeth. I know rage. I know what it is to hold back fury. I don't talk about these things, and I hate writing about them because I know someday someone will use it against me. But I don't care right now. I have to break these patterns of holding back.

This is about the third day in a row I woke up angry. I can't shake it right now. This is why I went on the meds to begin with. I remember now. Now that I'm finally back to normal. I started writing again, sort of. I worked for a bit on a story that I started on the plane coming back from Iceland. Without the meds, I feel like I'm thinking clearer, but my emotions are ragged and rampant.

I miss my song though. I miss the music that used to move through me, the rythm that scuplted my poetry. I sat out side last night during the rain and thought about it. I thought about the urgent warning song of the wind as it moved through the aspens, the low baritone of distant thunder and the sweet, tradgic melody the rain makes agains the windows and through the aluminum drains.

posted by September @ 3:12 PM