the Itch

 

I know it’s time to go

I know I don’t want to be here

but don’t know where else I should be
I know its time to move
but I don’t know where I’m going
or what to do once I arrive
or how I will know when I’ve gotten there
there’s no plan, no backup
but I’ve got the itch
and the rest will have to play out
the wanderneed gets under your skin
and all you can do is accept
stand up
set your feet to rambling
and get moving
in doubtful trust
that the way forward will show itself
one step at a time

©jayetomas2013

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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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