Trespasser
There is an old woman
Who has made her home
In the corner of my mind.
She is shrunken, bitter,
Dark to the core.
She whispers in my ear
With her sour breath
Such ugly, disturbing things.
Her crooked eye peers out
And sees a mean, mean world,
Where no one can be trusted
And nothing is quite right.
She doesn’t like the way I look,
She says I don’t fit in.
Each time she spots a hopeful thought
She rushes over to sweep it out.
“Ridiculous,” she scoffs,
“Impractical.”
And just when I think I’ll let go,
Maybe take a little risk,
She’s standing there in front of me,
Arms folded and frowning,
Shaking her head.
“What will people think?”
she whispers.
I want her out.
She feels like death to me.
I point the way to the door,
But she refuses to go away.
“For your own good,” she tells me.
“Just imagine what you’d be like
without me.”
So I let her talk
And try not to listen,
But her voice drones on and on,
Drawing a blind
Of shame and caution
That no light can penetrate,
No song shine through.
By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith
Happy Sunday morning! I am facilitating an Artist’s Way Cluster at our new bookstore, Neighborhood Reads. I am really enjoying this experience and our discussions have been fascinating to me. This past week, we talked a bit about the inner censor that tries to shut us down when we take creative risks. It reminded me of this poem that I wrote years ago. I found that making a caricature of her took away some of her power. She still talks, but I am getting better at not listening. I hope you have a beautiful week and are able to be creative anyway.
You speak to my soul. Your poems and thoughts are echos in my head and heart. Sometimes they are light and happy echos and sometimes dark and dismal.
Thank you, Nettie. Good to know someone is reading these posts:) I think you and I have a lot in common in the way we think.
Kick her ass out!
Haha! I love you, Susan! I wrote this one a pretty long time ago. She is still there, but she doesn’t have much credibility or take up much of my time.