I'd like to say you sauntered straight out of the womb, Confident, with your head held high, legs sturdier than oak, Swaggering, surrounded by an aura, screaming the MASTER IS HERE.
But you staggered. Stumbled. Flip-flop tumbled, head first Straight into this nonsensical method of extended evolution.
You didn't shout your arrival to the world, you didn't whisper your name to the moon. You let the grass give you the nutrients you needed, the sea take you where you needed to go.
You wished upon the moon, you wished upon the stars, you wished upon anything that would take you far. Your mother's courage, your grandfather's success, your dad's love for life. You wished upon your sister's eyes and your brother's smile and the wet, black nose of your favorite childhood dog.
You admired your mothers hands -- the dried blood on the knuckles, the veins that could make themselves known, the callouses that just seemed to appear in the worst places. And your daddy's shoulders -- the tanned muscles, that allowed you to balance so perfectly at barbecues.
You tried to lay life low, but you had to work. Get your hands dirty. Dig up secrets from the past and arrange them perfectly in the jigsaw puzzle of your life.
You wrote words to enable others to change the world, you wrote melodies that motivated people to explore, you wrote stories to inspire adults to dream.
You sang out your soul as loud as you could muster for all the world to hear, but they didn't, couldn't, listen. So you stood on a wheeled desk-chair and tried again.
And they still didn't get it. But you did. The words flowed from you differently than they had before. People turned their heads, opened their ears, waited, watched, listened.
Little did you know that that chair you had stepped on was the mountain lift you needed. The attention the people donated to you was the confidence boost you desired. And the words that travelled through air, from your mouth to their hearts, were the answers you always had in you.
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song -- "So Small," Carrie Underwood
YOU ARE READING
My View from the Mount
PoetryA really close friend (she's the older sister I never had) once told me that I don't need to be established to consider myself a writer. So here I am. I'm a writer, but I'm not a professional. I'm just a girl with a pen who speaks through a notebook...
