Have you ever considered this?
You might be the one
Standing in your own way.
Maybe all of the things
You want most in life:
The friendships, the goals,
The fulfillment you chase,
Are behind that one door
That you’re afraid to open.
The knock you’re afraid to answer.
You have all sorts of thoughts,
Supposedly smart,
About people you’ve met before
Who come from there.
They are fake, unfriendly, shallow.
But those people aren’t Him.
And you know it.
You’ve thought about this.
I know you have.
You think too much
And act too little.
It’s like you’re on a train.
You sit and think and think
about whether or not
this is your stop,
until the door is closed
and that station is passed.
Then you think about regret,
Think so much
About the last station—
What could have been—
That you miss your next chance.
Change the order.
For once in your life,
Just get up and go.
Step off the train,
Even if you aren’t ready.
Step out on the platform,
Even if you aren’t sure
What you’ll do when you get there.
The what ifs
Are more dangerous
Than the what is.
And don’t get tangled up
In those what abouts…
What about people who
Might ruin their lives
By using this advice?
What about someone
Who might misunderstand,
Do something stupid with it?
What about them?
They aren’t in this conversation.
You don’t speak for them.
And, by the way,
You’re making an excuse—
Don’t huff and puff;
You know it’s true!
You have a place to be
And you’re wasting something
You’ll never get back—time.
Tag: poetry
To the Little Girl Who Watered the Tiny Flowers
You’re such a little thing. Three? Four?
Couldn’t be more. And you notice the flowers.
Itty-bitty, no bigger than a thumbnail,
Growing hidden in the grass.
In a flash, you have a plan.
Mother’s Day is coming,
And Mom loves flowers.
She’d like some for her vase—
She’s always talking about it.
You know something about plants—
You’ve learn so much lately.
Plants grow when they get water,
Of that, you are certain.
So you go to the kitchen sink,
Stand on the step stool,
Fill a glass and carry it outside.
You select a specific patch
And you water it—
Over and over,
Glass after glass.
When Mom asks,
You say it’s a surprise.
You know this is going to work.
When Mother’s Day comes,
Those flowers will be big.
They’ll fill the vase with beautiful blooms.
But the flowers don’t grow.
…
I’m here to tell you
Your plan wasn’t a failure.
You learned something that day:
Just because you want a thing to happen,
Because you think it should happen,
Doesn’t mean it can or will or should.
You may look back over the years
And laugh at that tiny dreamer,
But please don’t stop;
Believe the impossible.
Your hope is beautiful, little girl.
Things won’t always bloom,
You learned that early,
But hope has a way
Of making miracles happen—
Not always,
But sometimes.
And as as you grow, you’ll realize
That now and then
Is plenty often
For a miracle.
Angela M. Adams
To the Young One Afraid to Make Mistakes
We all have weaknesses,
So freely acknowledge your flaws.
And guess what? You’re going to shatter some china.
Over time, lots. And that’s okay.
Be able to admit your mistakes,
But don’t just plop down there,
Wallowing in regret.
Get up. Ask for forgiveness.
Forgive yourself, too.
And forgive others who had a hand in your fall.
It’ll take courage, but I hope you come to learn this:
We cannot survive together while keeping score.
We cannot survive, either, keeping score against ourselves.
Of course, you know this isn’t free rein
To do things you shouldn’t—
Any little thing you want,
To fall into weakness,
Or laziness,
To make every thoughtless mistake,
To hurt other people
And elevate yourself,
To avoid consequences—
Certainly not.
But I know you;
You won’t dwell there;
You heard that part loud and clear.
What you need is Confidence.
Confidence is respecting others and yourself,
Knowing you both have great value (yes, you too).
Confidence is bravely setting your boundaries,
And standing firm when they are challenged by crooks.
Confidence is being thoughtful and wise,
Then making clear choices without dodging shards of guilt.
Confidence is allowing yourself healthy emotions,
Not canning them to meet others’ expectation.
Confidence is being honest and kind:
In how you think; in how you live; in how you treat yourself.
Confidence is embracing you calling,
even when you aren’t good at it…yet.
Don’t skim over this!
Don’t shelve it,
Saying you’ll come back later—
When you’re better prepared,
More mature.
You’ll come back—
When you have time to do it justice.
You won’t.
Dig in now.
Let it really sink in. Digest it.
Practice. Give yourself grace. Practice more.
Believe me, you won’t regret it.
Learn this one, and you’ll really go places.
To the Girl Stuck in Place
The answer is easy.
But it’s hard to let go
Of all that is me,
Of all that I know.
It hurts to release
All the pride that I’ve built,
And I’m oddly at home
In the poisonous guilt.
I’m programmed to stay
In that perilous place;
Just a drink from the cup
And my senses erase.
I sip at fear and envy,
Edge life with black and green,
And settle in to ruminate—
My usual routine.
The place leaves me mired,
And spinning my wheels
Stuck in mud, smeared in grime,
Wrapped in witless appeals.
But I don’t have to stay here,
Though worn the rut may be.
I was wrong, Lord, come help me!
Will You please and set me free?
To the Girl Who Doesn’t Easily Make Friends
“You’re full of foolish thoughts, you know,
Some too fast, some too slow,
Some too shallow, some too deep.
Read the room.
You’re so…unique.”
“Why can’t you talk like all the others?
Dress like them? Why don’t you bother
Fitting in? I think you could, it’s true.
But you’re so different.
You’re so…you.”
Child, don’t heed the voices;
The right friends will come along.
They won’t be assigned, like a locker at school,
They’ll be sewn to your soul.
You don’t just…choose.
To the One Who Needs to Control the Outcome
The things that will happen, will happen.
So why do you cling tight to fear?
Unplug from that Worry Recharge Station,
Fill instead with some hope, crystal clear.
You can’t make decisions for people-
They aren’t yours to mind or to mend.
The worries you hold like a flock of caged birds,
Must be let out to fly in the end.
Peace, just like worry, is contagious.
Choose to breathe, not to drown in the cares.
Chances are, someone else won’t approve it.
That’s okay. It’s alright. Don’t waste tears.
Hear the wind. Watch the rain as it splatters
And it rushes all over the pane.
Wash your mind with a nourishing writing.
Sit in silence, and peace you’ll obtain.
To the Girl Trapped in Fear
I wish I could free you, small one.
From the fear that is in your mind
The images there are nothing to fear,
But they’ll long squeeze you tight in a bind.
Speak up! Say your thoughts, though they’re stupid.
The fear is what’s really the cage.
A wrong word won’t mark you forever.
Don’t shut yourself up; just engage.
Don’t elevate others so highly
That you fear to meet them eye to eye.
People are people, I hope you will see,
And they’re making it up on the fly.
The what ifs will strike you as endless
Hidden tragedy in every form.
But much of this life is fair weather;
Don’t lose yourself chasing a storm.
Most things that you fear? They won’t happen.
Go travel and let yourself soar.
The tangles you meet? They’ll unravel.
You’ll be glad that you stepped through the door.
I won’t waste my words on the the big things—
You’ll dive into them and you’ll swim.
My dear, you’ll stand strong when it matters.
You’ll shine when the dragons come in!
To the Girl in Love with Darkroom Photography
Look up from the developing trays.
You can’t see it yet,
But something is coming.
Maybe you smell the shift—
Or feel the marching—
An army? A friend?
It depends.
Kiss your Pentax K1000 goodbye,
But photos are here to stay.
They’ll appear everywhere—
Every day, every reason.
You’ll see the image immediately,
Then rarely look back.
Photography in reverse.
It will be glorious and ghastly.
Great shots.
Instant edits.
Sharing like magic.
Abandoned photo box.
Dead computers.
Lost memories.
You’ll remember then,
The anguish of wondering.
“Did I get the shot?”
The exhalation.
The disappointment.
The heart flutter of holding a beauty,
An image born out of hard labor.
A paper treasure.
Your darkroom days are ending,
I feel I must relay it.
But the truth is,
You’ll come out alright
If you take this hint:
Enjoy the advances,
And don’t forget to print!
To the Girl who Had Her First Seizure
I wish I could tell you it will get easier
That the worst is behind you.
It won’t. It isn’t. Not yet.
There will be more…
Hundreds,
Thousands,
Dozens and dozens some days.
You will be scared.
Terrified. Lonely. Humiliated.
You’ll dig through, grabbing at breath,
Drowning in spit and blood.
And look up, ashamed to meet another’s eye.
You’ll hide for a while, hold them in,
But they’ll explode—too many to contain.
This is what you’ll be up against;
I knew you’d want to know.
You’ll fight well,
And you’ll fight poorly,
But you will never give up.
One day you’ll do something stupid
And end up in a coma.
But God will grant mercy.
Out of the darkness and fog
Discovery will come.
Of who you are
Of why you’re here.
You’ll find a different medicine,
But more than that, you’ll find peace.
You’re here for a reason, my dear.
Hold strong;
You’ll find it.
Angela Writes... 