there will be time?

yes, there will be time but what if now is the time?

be brave. you're brave, I know you are. just do it. don't wait until you're 40 something with kids and a husband in suburbia thinking "where did I put that book I wrote when I was 20?". do it now. just send it out, what do you have to lose?

I opened the envelope that houses my book today for the first time in months. Looking at it was hard because Jake was gone and I didn't have him to lean on when reading my book got too hard. I think I'm ready to go back in though, get back deep down in there entrenched in the words like seafoam tide rising up above my head until I'm scuba diving in the world I created. The characters stand up around me while I read like they have always existed, these people who just needed my pen to release them from their holding places. They stare at me and I know what they're thinking: "why do you keep us locked here? Let us out, let us be seen and heard" I know, I know. I'm trying to build up the courage. It's time though, time to jump and fall so far into the ocean that maybe the sun doesn't shine that deep. Time to prepare a face to meet the faces I will meet. Time to see if rejection hurts as bad as I think it might or if it will roll off just like all the others in my past. I can take it. I think. I do love that poem that I wrote. and the other one, oh and that one too. I have three, all in my own style, all in that style I created that sounds so much just like it's own thing. I love writing. I forgot, I think, I forgot this feeling in my chest of fullness so full I can't stop because if I do then it'll stop and breathing won't feel right at all.
ummmm I just wrote this just now so raw so so so new not coherent, hasn't been thought out, consider it stream of consciousness because it might as well be. but I need to start writing poetry again

Call Me Home

The road was bumpy and my neck
bent under the roof
because there wasn't room enough
in the car for all
of us.

Crowded laughter and windows down
to keep back
that one last shot they
had to have
accosted me.

Sirens called out into the
sky like stars across desert
highways in Bethlehem
and Jesus was at the other end
or you were.

For a moment you held me
in the palm of your hand
like grains of sand I slipped
and caught inside the crevices
of your life line.

Like Bethlehem you saved me
tethered yourself
back to me for just one moment
while the car swerved on black ice
in December.

That smell, like home,
your beard and childhood crafts
hung on walls so proud they beam.
Over the phone you wafted into my nose
and I breathed you in like
saying goodbye all over again.

Like a siren you called out
like a siren you called out
like a siren your night sound saved
like a siren you beamed out bright
like a siren, like home.