Ever feel like the world is too much. Just too damn much,always asking for your attention to this headline or that breaking news. Early morning routines,structured around social media check ins, as if our day will be predicted whether we saw that perfectly stylized picture of a succulent plant wall. How fast can our blood pressure rise knowing at 5 am that unkindness and loud mouthed brashness and brassiness is still the new law of the land? Could a revival of materialistic television shows like Dynasty, Dallas, or big loud porsches that talk to their entitled owners not be far behind, replacing Dragons that fly or Girls who dream? And then there are the fads and trends of whether to roll your jeans or not, rip them at the knees, trucker hat or not, diy or buy, boho or sleek, clutter or minimal, on and on and on, creating a community of unsatisfied but ever hip and with-it cool “misfits”.
The above sentiment was the kind rolling in my head as I penned today’s selected poem sometime last year.
Still the thoughts and questions that had me writing this poem invade my head space, today. Now, though my friend ‘why’ has gotten cozy with the ever bad influence of ‘fear’ and ‘complacency’ and her oft labeled slutty sister of ‘I don’t give a fuck anymore, think what you want, bastard.’ I sort of like the little sister way better than the other two.
Yes, the sister and the sea, who with its unpredictable waves, love of the crash and burn, who beckons again and again to try, try, try, no matter the predictable outcome of its water spouts eventually crashing , with you sliding on the wet sand head first into a clump of flea infested seaweed, these two demand that you try again. Admidst those saying, ‘Don’t rock the boat’ , the sea and the sister says , ‘Try you! Try. You.’
Yes, ‘Try you’ she says to me. ‘Try. me.’