an old poem/letter found whilst unpacking
(written on may 17, year unknown)
on my desk is a small stress ball, and
my left hand kneads at it while
i look out at the 45 degree rain and
frantic movements of window wipers.
i am thinking of
your declaration of friendship and
both the pain and the joy of that gift.
about how i feel i know you so well and yet
don’t know you at all. how
the darker side of me clutches at a fear
i am smothering you and thinks, irritated,
that it sometimes feels like just
however the softer side of me
that i feel closer to you
than any one other friend
i’ve ever known.
you wear me out
you lift me up
i am afraid of
– not keeping up with you
– not matching your aspirations.
i know there is nothing to do
no-one to be,
you make me a better person, and
a thousand other clichés.
i look forward to continuing to be
april is NaPoWriMo (national poetry writing month) and I really like what Catherine has written about what she sees as problems surrounding this concept.