“I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many there are in me.” ~ Anaïs Nin
I often wonder what I’ll write. What words are burning to the surface of my soul. It isn’t unusual. Emotions start to brew as I await my first sip of coffee.
Sometimes the singe of words are feelings needing to be released. Parts of me still hesitate how much to share. There’s pieces of me that rage an overlapping battle of personal and social injustices. Bullying, keeps speaking.
My newly outspoken voice is cooled by the poet within; she blinks at the rain laden flowers next to the woman wrapped around her mug, while listening to the first choral of songbirds.
The mom, on autopilot making breakfasts and reminiscing of her high school days. She swallows a bit of saline and switches into a thread from last night’s dreams.
Nothing flashy or wild. She’s speaking out. She’s transitioning just as her teens are.
There’s an individuation permeating the house…
It’s a revolution. It’s a healthy rebellion.
I’m brought back to the here and now with, “Mom, what’s for breakfast?”
The cat “merps” for a treat.
I’m annoyed at the intrusions until I look up and see the needs and wants are real. I savor real and take a 2nd sip into a new day, smiling as I hear a friend’s voice, “Sip less coffee today.”