If You See Me



If you see me
will you stop
if I am shivering will you give me your coat
will you put your arms around me
try to warm me with a cup of coffee
or will you say you will pray for me and walk by
forgetting my face a bare second after
while I am still shivering
if you see me crying
will you give me a kleenex and your shoulder
or will you tell me how much worse it could be
tell me I should toughen up
and list the things I have done wrong
while crimson joins my wet cheeks
If I am face down in the dirt are you there smudged and dusty beside me
are you seated in the front row
with ready applause
the first time I tremblingly try to speak
a touch of the hand and a smile
carries more words than any mission statement
or press release
a connection that does not rely on wires or towers or i-anything
I see you
I am here
we are here in the world together
If you see me
Will you see me
will you




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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