Originality

“It’s like I tell people about

Charles Bukowski.

I do not know why.

I should just tell them about myself.

Quit wasting their time.

But that’s the thing;

Would I not be wasting time merely

Talking of myself?

Oh the ringing in my ear is far too much

What an outcry,

Spilling over, seeping like tea

In my white porcelain coffee mug,

Stamped with painted ginger bread men.

Smiling up at me like they know

A secret that I do not.

I’m ready to play scrabble..

Connect the dot..

Show my truest self

Like the dancing gingerbread men

Right there. In my palm. Holding their energy

As I move.

Because each step of mine is really

One of theirs.

And each thought of mine is really the Universe.

Each strand of thinking, propelling

New ideas forward and jumping...

Forming, molding,

Latching themselves onto me.

It’s just as much myself with words,

As the words are also part of me.

So I slap myself down on this drab

Piece of paper.

Watching the pen play puppet

As the puppeteer runs staircases

In my mind.

One slip, it’s okay..

It actually helps me.

More thoughts forming,

As I dust myself off..to stand.

-Keep climbing.”