Beautiful words, fanciful ideas,
tugging at the apron strings
of my soul.
Petulant children,
annoying and impractical.
I turn away, brush them off,
push them away,
but still they have hold,
tugging and pulling relentlessly.
Somehow petulance and annoyance
have become endearing;
weaseled into my consciousness
and ingrained themselves!
My defense mechanisms
no longer work;
the walls are so thin now,
threatening to crumble,
so that I lie vulnerable and true.
A mere breath, soft breeze
tears the membrane away
and there I am.
My creativity and freedom,
lain dormant for so long,
now unleashed and free to roam.
Within that which I have feared
I find that for which I have searched.
Freedom and creativity and truth
in vulnerability.
Ironic, non?
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