On the Outside


I’m always outside looking in
I’m the smudge nose print
on the window
never invited, never a part
I’m always in shadow
on the fringes
wandering in the damp night
gazing inside lamp lit rooms
studying the smiles
the gestures
copying reactions
so if I ever get in
I’ll know what to do
I’m always outside looking in
searching for a key, a lease 
so I can stay
What am I lacking?
What keeps me separate?
Sometimes a lost stranger stops
only for a moment, they never stay
I’m the lone player on a stage
that’s not been built
I play all the roles
and none of them are real
how do you
get to the inside of things?







About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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