Almost there.
We almost made it.
We almost had it all.
I almost said.
I almost lost it.
I almost…
An unremarkable word with no interesting morphemes,
a straightforward spelling,
no high score in scrabble…
just a simple word.
Just a sad word,
a just barely hoped
 for a moment
kind of word,
and one that you can wrap around you like a sheltering cape.
I almost….
used too often it creates a barrier,
a scar you can run your finger over,
a strangeness, 
a reminder of your not quite the sameness.
Your unboldness.
My almost is growing like a pearl
layer by layer,
and I am leaning against it
letting it prop me,
forgetting how to stand alone,
in my solitary church of almost. 
I’m trying to remember how to push the doors,
which way they swing,
and sometimes I



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. 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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